


we were wild and fluorescent

by connorswhisk



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Nonbinary Character, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, but fuck it right, did i have fun with it? yes. is it good? no., in some of them at least, so. this is a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Nursey and Dex, throughout fifteen different years, different lifetimes, different worlds, different stories.(just nurseydex in a ton of different aus because why not)
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 38





	we were wild and fluorescent

**Author's Note:**

> here have this...thing...that i wrote
> 
> see end notes for a full list of every au/scenario used in this fic
> 
> title taken from supercut by lorde

**i. _Detroit, Michigan - 1980_**

Dex is a really uptight guy. Or, well, he _was._ Even he can admit it. He used to actively enjoy going to class. He liked fixing things, working on his uncle’s lobster boat in the summer, and being captain of the mathletes. The _mathletes._

And maybe he still sort of likes those things. Even though he skips class now, spends less time fixing stuff and more time breaking it, hardly speaks to any of his siblings, and hasn’t been on the mathletes since last year, since…

Since Grandpa died. He hasn’t done a lot of things since Grandpa died.

And if he wants to try new things, make new friends, whatever, then why is that such a crime? He’s not _hurting_ anyone because he’s not a fucking _geek_ anymore, and anyone who thinks so can just _shove it._

Dex pushes the cafeteria door open, headed outside, because it’s either that, or eat in here with Chowder, and he loves Chowder, really, but…they’re not the same anymore. Not like they were sophomore year.

The smoker’s patio isn’t small, but the nicotine smell seems to stink up the whole place, anyway. Dex forces his nose not to wrinkle (because that would look extremely uncool) and heads for the picnic table by the back fence, where his friends sit.

His sort-of friends. It’s complicated.

“Hey,” Shitty says, and Lardo echoes him from where she’s leaning against his shoulder. Bully just nods. Nursey doesn’t even seem to notice that Dex is there, but whatever.

Whatever.

“Hey,” Dex says, sitting down. As usual, Bully offers him a cig, and as usual, Dex refuses it.

“So anyway,” Lardo says. Dex clearly just interrupted her in the middle of a thought. “My mom found out that I stole the twenty dollars, but she thought my brother took it. Went right up to him and hit him over the head with a newspaper. He was yelling and everything, it was _hilarious._ ”

Bully and Nursey chuckle, and Shitty laughs and buries his face in Lardo’s neck. Dex tries for a smile, hopes it comes off as genuine.

“So,” Bully says, looking on in an amused sort of way as Lardo cackles. “We going out tonight, or what?”

“Where to?” Dex asks.

Bully shrugs. “I don’t know. Isn’t there some band playing at the Rusty Nail?”

“Yeah,” Dex says, remembering some flyers he’d seen in town a few days back. “Feedback, right? But they’re probably carding at the door.”

“Sucks for you guys,” Lardo says, grinning wolfishly. “ _I’ve_ got a fake ID.”

“Yeah, and you’re the only one who does,” Bully says, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “So why don’t you shut the fuck up about it already?”

“We can always just drive around,” Shitty suggests, shrugging. “Egg a few houses. I wouldn’t mind egging _mine,_ to be perfectly fucking honest.”

“I’ll go,” Nursey says. “As long as _he_ doesn’t narc on us.”

Dex’s ears redden. He knows who Nursey’s referring to.

“Come on, lay off,” Bully says. “Dex isn’t gonna tell us off. He’ll come with us.”

Nursey rolls his eyes, shooting Dex a scowl. “Whatever.”

And that’s just the thing: Derek Nurse hates Dex, and Dex has no idea _why._ None of the others really have that much of an issue with Dex hanging out with them, even if he doesn’t smoke and even if he’s a straight-A student, but Nursey just doesn’t _like_ him. He makes fun of his clothes, calls him a poser when he doesn’t recognize every single fucking song that plays on the radio, smirks whenever Dex declines a cigarette. And _sure,_ maybe Dex isn’t completely innocent, and maybe he’s a little unfair to Nursey, too, but he’s only doing that because _Nursey_ started this all.

It’s justified, isn’t it? If Dex wasn’t the one who started it? Isn’t it?

“Fuck off, Nurse,” Dex says angrily. “If you hate me so much, why do you hang out with me?”

Nursey snorts. “I don’t _hate_ you,” he says. “I just think you’re annoying.”

“Yeah, well, me too!” Dex says. They glare at each other, ignoring the others’ conversation to keep up their heat-filled staring contest until the bell rings, and Dex leaves for biology through the east doors in a huff, while Nursey heads in the direction, most likely to skip class.

God, he is _infuriating._

Is it weird that Dex can’t wait to see him again tonight?

Tonight comes, and they all pile into Lardo’s crappy car, Bully carrying along a couple of cartons of eggs. Shitty sits shotgun since he’s dating Lardo, so Dex gets shoved to the back with the others, unfortunately on Nursey’s right side. They argue for a good five minutes over the sound of Van Halen blasting through the radio before Bully tells them both to can it, and by that time Dex can’t even stay mad at Nursey, because it’s Friday night, the music’s loud, Dex hasn’t done any of his homework, and he doesn’t even care.

He doesn’t care what his parents or his brother or his teachers or Chowder might say. He’s happy like this, even if he _does_ have Nursey right next to him, screaming lyrics that he knows Dex doesn’t know right into his ear.

It doesn’t matter. Dex is _living._

“Heads up!” Shitty says, and Lardo pulls the car to a stop outside a house with pink plastic flamingoes in its front lawn. Bully hands over a carton, and Lardo and Shitty get out of the car, shoving each other and laughing pretty loudly the whole time.

“What if they get caught?” Dex asks nervously, unable to help himself.

Bully shakes his head. “Lights are off. No one’s home. They’ll be fine.”

Nursey snorts. “ _Jesus,_ Poindexter, would you get the stick out of your ass?”

“I’m not - _Shove it,_ Nurse,” Dex says irritably, knocking his shoulder into Nursey’s and trying not to pay attention to the fact that it’s staying there and Nursey doesn’t have anything to say about it.

Dex watches as Shitty and Lardo egg the house pretty thoroughly, and while it looks like they’re having fun, all Dex can think about is what his dad would have to say about this, what his mother would think if she knew Dex was out here egging houses, or, _watching_ people egg houses, anyway, how Chowder would react to it, and what if a neighbor sees, what if somebody calls the _cops,_ then what would they do?

But no one calls the cops, and Lardo and Shitty get back in the car and hit the gas. They drive around for a while longer, the music turned up as high as possible on Lardo’s cruddy radio, cheering and yelling and cursing out random people on the sidewalk, and somewhere between Bully egging another house and ‘Hush’ playing for the third time in a row, Shitty shouts, “You dudes are up next!” and he grins at Dex and Nursey like he’s just told them John Bonham came back from the dead.

“Oh,” Dex says. “I don’t know if - “

But no one can hear him over the sounds of Deep Purple, and by the time they roll up to the next house, a huge one in a richer neighborhood with columns and everything, Dex is feeling a little sick to his stomach.

“Come on,” Nursey says, practically dragging him out of the car.

“Yeah, _ok,_ ” Dex growls, grabbing the carton from Bully and shaking Nursey off. “Calm down.”

Nursey just keeps walking, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jean jacket, and Dex follows him, jaw set tight.

The front of the house is almost completely obscured by those tall, slender evergreen trees that look like stalks of asparagus, and there’s so many of them that it blocks Lardo’s car completely from view. Nursey scoffs.

“Fuckin’ rich people,” he says venomously. “Here, give me an egg.”

Dex hands him one, their fingers brush for the tiniest second, and Dex promptly drops it right onto Nursey’s shoes.

“Nice one,” Nursey seethes, trying to rub his sneakers off on the grass. “We’re supposed to be hitting the _house,_ remember?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Dex hisses, because what the hell, they might as well do this now, in a rich family’s front yard, with Nursey wiping egg yolk onto their lawn.

“ _My_ problem? What’s _your_ problem?”

“I mean, what is your problem with _me?_ ” Dex demands. “You’re always being such a dick to me, and as far as I can tell, I did nothing to you.”

Nursey glares sharply. “Hey, you’re no saint, either, Poindexter.”

“What- _ever,_ ” Dex says. “That doesn’t explain jack.”

Nursey sighs angrily. “Look, I - I don’t _hate_ you, all right? I told you that before, and I meant it. It’s just - you’re already this perfect kid. You get good grades. You don’t smoke pot. You don’t even really drink. Everyone _likes_ you, Dex.”

“That’s not true,” Dex says automatically. “That’s not true, and you know it. And so what if it was? That doesn’t mean I can’t hang out with you guys.”

“I know,” Nursey says icily. “But my question is, why _do_ you? You have this perfect life. You have everything.”

Dex scowls. “That’s not fair. My family lives paycheck-to-paycheck. You’re the one with the money.”

Nursey rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t count. My parents don’t care about me. Yeah, your parents are overprotective, but at least they _like_ you.”

Dex is silent for a moment. Then he says, “I don’t think your parents hate you, Nursey.”

“Yeah, well,” Nursey says, looking away. “They’ve got a funny way of showing it. Never around. Want me to join the military. What am I supposed to do with that? I don’t want it. I never have.”

Dex nods. “My dad has this big idea that I’m gonna grow up and become partners with him at his accounting firm. Like, we’re gonna be _Poindexter & Son _or something. It’s ridiculous.”

Nursey hums. “Yeah. Parents are crazy.”

Dex grins, wondering where his anger went, and deciding that he doesn’t really care. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and then Dex starts to say, “I’m sorry for getting egg on your shoes,” but he doesn’t finish, because Nursey leans over, grabs his face, and kisses him.

Dex responds so quickly that he drops the carton this time, and he’s pretty sure he’s got egg on _his_ shoes now, but he can’t even bring himself to care. He fists his hands in the collar of Nursey’s jean jacket and kisses back as hard as he can.

“Fuck,” Nursey mutters when they pull apart.

“Fuck,” Dex agrees.

Before they can do anything else, a light flips on, the door of the house swings open, and a very angry and very big dude in a bathrobe walks out.

“Shit,” Nursey supplies this time, and they turn around and haul ass out of there as fast as possible, both laughing harder than ever as the rich guy yells after them, Nursey pulling Dex along by the hand.

They hurl themselves into the backseat and Lardo starts the car, peeling away from the curb with a screech of tires and a shriek of laughter, and pretty soon they’re all laughing louder than strictly necessary, and it feels really, really good.

  
Next time there’s a break in the songs on the radio, Dex leans over and whispers into Nursey’s ear, “Hey, you know how you made fun of me that one time for thinking that ‘Baba O’Riley’ was called ‘Teenage Wasteland?’”

Nursey’s lips quirk up into his crooked smile. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Dex shrugs. “I was just thinking, I’ve never actually listened to _Who’s Next._ Do you think you’d want to…?”

Nursey’s smile gets even wider. “I think so, Poindexter. I think so.”

Dex grins so hard at that that he doesn’t even care when his parents ground him for getting home late.

**ii. _New York City, New York - 2018_**

This is not how today was supposed to go. Dex was supposed to pop downtown, get a couple of shots of the graffiti in the area for his photography class, and then leave, maybe stopping for a sandwich at the deli by his dorm first. Get home, finish up that paper for Rodriguez’s class, try another crack at fixing the stupid radiator on Chowder’s side of the room, and pass out. That’s all he was _planning_ to do, at least.

He was not really prepared to get caught in the middle of a huge fight between Spider-Man and Doctor Octopus, but it’s not like it’s his fault. _They_ came to _him._

“Go on, quick,” Dex says, trying to get this kid to move, but they’re rooted to the spot with their phone pointed upwards, towards where Spider-Man has just webbed one of Doc Ock’s tentacles to the side of a skyscraper.

“Come _on,_ ” Dex says, gritting his teeth and tugging at the hood of the kid’s sweatshirt. “It’s not safe here, you’re going to get hurt.”

“I’m filming this,” the kid says, but there’s a particularly loud wrenching sound as Doc Ock’s pincers puncture a car’s hood and lift it up like it weighs nothing, aiming it poorly at Spider-Man, and the kid seems to change their mind.

They put the phone in their pocket. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Dex leads them out of the park and over to the crowd a couple of streets away, who are all staring open-mouthed at the fight and trying to get good angles for their Instagram Lives.

The most annoying part out of all of this is that now would be the _perfect_ time to attempt to get some photos for the Daily Bugle. Spider-Man is _right there,_ and Jameson’s always yelling about getting pictures for the front page…

_But then again,_ Dex thinks as another car is thrown in his direction, causing the crowd to back up and a couple of people to run away, screaming, _What’s more important, my boss’s anti-Spider-Man obsession, or my life?_

The vigilante in question lands in front of Dex, and before Dex can even lift up his camera for what would probably have been a _distinctly awesome shot,_ Spider-Man is moving fast as lightning, running out to meet the car and, incredibly, catching it. The force of it causes his heels to dig into the concrete as he skids backward, before grinding to a halt. He sets the car down gently and yells, “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that, Otto!”

“Otto?” Dex hears himself ask.

“Ugh, I _know,_ right,” Spider-Man says back, not turning around, and Dex jolts at the sound of his voice, so much softer and lighter now that it’s directed at him, as opposed to the loud shouting from before, and achingly, _painfully_ familiar.

“It’s like, if you’re gonna be a supervillain, at least do the whole _Victor Von Doom_ thing, right?” Spider-Man says, still not looking at Dex, but Dex barely registers what he’s saying because he recognizes that voice and that’s _Nursey._

Nursey, one of Dex’s best friends and also the dude Dex has been in love with for two years is _Spider-Man._

Dex really, _really_ needs to lie down. Clearly, Nursey hasn’t realized who he’s talking to, or even that he knows Dex at all. And Dex could say something, but he doesn’t want anyone to overhear. If it really is Nursey, he can confront him about it tonight at dinner…and if it _isn’t_ …Well that would be pretty embarrassing, so Dex hopes he’s right.

Or does he? Being a superhero is dangerous, and Doc Ock, sensing Nursey’s weakness when it comes to protecting innocent people, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then maneuvers his robotic arms fast as torpedoes, aiming clear for the giant screen up above them that has been flashing ads for erectile dysfunction pills for the past few minutes. The tentacles whistle as they zoom through the air, and before Dex can even really comprehend what’s happening, the screen is falling, falling, falling down.

Because that’s exactly what Dex needs right now. To be crushed by a jumbotron marketing Viagra, thrown on top of him by a supervillain wearing a trench coat and nothing underneath whose name is _Otto._

“ _Everyone, get back!_ ” Nursey yells, but everyone’s already cleared out of the way except for Dex, who is still staring above him, rooted to the spot and wondering if this is really the way he’s going to go out.

His legs start to move too late, but someone grabs him before the screen can flatten him into a pancake.

And suddenly, Dex’s feet have left the ground, and he’s tucked underneath someone’s arm, and when he opens his eyes, he’s flying some thirty feet above the ground, and his head is spinning.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, but he can barely hear himself over the wind whistling past his ears. “Holy _shit._ ”

If he weren’t terrified for his life right now, he could be getting some _killer_ shots of Spider-Man. But then Jameson would probably think they were _too_ killer. _Suspiciously_ killer.

Nursey’s arms are really, really strong, and his body, which Dex is tucked into, one of his white-knuckled hands fisted into the spandex on his chest, is strikingly solid and very warm. Of course, it’s pretty hard to stay focused on this, as they are both currently hurtling through the air at top speed, but it’s something that stays floating around in the back of Dex’s head nevertheless.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity but is probably only fifteen seconds or so, Nursey sets him down in a deserted alleyway, a safe distance away from the chaos.

“You need to watch out for yourself,” Spider-Man says, glancing over at him, and then he does a double-take and staggers backward a little.

“What?” Dex pants, massaging his chest in the hopes to maybe slow his heart down a little before it bursts out of him.

“You, uh - It’s just - nothing, nothing,” Spider-Man mutters. “It’s chill, don’t worry about it.”

And if Dex thought he’d been sure it was Nursey under the mask before, it’s practically confirmed for him now.

“Um,” Dex says. “Don’t you have to go out and keep fighting Doc Ock?”

“ _Right!_ ” Nursey exclaims. “Yeah, yeah, I do need to do that - “

And he shoots a web at a nearby building, grabs on, and swings away again.

The smartest thing for Dex to do would probably be for him to go back to his dorm now. God knows he’s had enough excitement in one afternoon to last for the rest of his life, and God knows that no one else is going to fix the radiator. But he also really needs a breather, due to said excitement, and however dirty and dingy the disgusting floor of this alley may be, Dex quickly sinks down and sits on it, his back up against the wall. The clouds that have been threatening to open up all day finally do, and with a distant clap of thunder, it starts to rain. Dex doesn’t even care that he’s getting wet. He just closes his eyes and lets it happen, and it relaxes him more than anything else.

He’s been resting for all of five minutes when there’s a familiar _fwip!_ sound, and he opens his eyes to see Nursey hanging from a strand of web in front of Dex, upside down and looking at him with what Dex can only assume is a quizzical expression, probably that dumb-looking one that Nursey does where he raises one of his eyebrows and does this weird little grimace that makes Dex want to tell him off for it and then kiss it off of him. But Dex can’t see past the mask, so for all he knows, Nursey could be deadpanning, perfectly serious right now.

But knowing Nursey, probably not.

“You’re still here,” Nursey says. It doesn’t sound like a question, so Dex doesn’t take it as one.

“Yeah, I needed a second to cool down,” Dex says, pushing his sopping wet bangs off his face.

Nursey snorts. “Dude, you are _soaked._ ”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Dex fires back.

Nursey shrugs, and since he’s hanging upside-down, the effect is very odd-looking.

“So,” Dex says.

“So…what?” Nursey’s voice sounds nervous. He probably thinks that Dex knows who he is. Which he does, but he’s not going to say anything just yet.

“ _So,_ did you get Doc Ock? What happened?”

“He got away,” Nursey says bitterly. “By the time I got back there, he was gone. I looked around, but he didn’t leave a trace; I have no idea where he went.” He groans. “I can see the Bugle headlines now: ‘ _Webbed Menace Spider-Man Causes Damage To Priceless Big Screen, Fails To Capture One Responsible._ ’ Jameson’ll be talking about it for _weeks._ ”

“Probably.” Dex stares down at the ground. What is he supposed to say? Does he tell Nursey what he knows? Or does he stay silent, and let Nursey keep believing that his identity is protected?

It still _is_ protected, though. It’s not like Dex is going to _tell_ anyone.

“Thanks for saving me,” he finds himself saying, glancing up at Nursey’s masked face. “I would’ve been roadkill.”

Nursey shrugs again. “Just doing my job. I wasn’t going to let you _die._ ”

“Right,” Dex says, standing up. He feels like his legs are moving of their own accord, like his body is doing things before his brain has a chance to catch up with it. “But seriously, thank you.”

“No problem,” Nursey says, and his voice sounds unnaturally high. “What, uh - What are you doing?”

Dex rests his palm on Nursey’s cheek. “Can I…?”

Nursey swallows loudly but doesn’t say anything.

“Is it ok?” Dex asks, and Nursey nods jerkily.

Dex hooks his fingers under the fold of the mask and slowly, slowly pulls it down. Not all the way, but just far enough so it’s resting on the bridge of Nursey’s nose. He puts his hand back on Nursey’s face, this time on stubbly flesh instead of wet spandex, and Nursey’s breath hitches, and Dex kisses him.

It’s a little weird - kissing upside-down, that is. It’s not entirely what he thought it would feel like, but he’s never really given much thought to this ever before. When he _did_ imagine kissing Nursey, it certainly wasn’t like this, with Nursey hanging from a web and Dex soaked through to the bone.

But it’s still nice, and it’s still Nursey.

Dex pulls back. Nursey exhales shakily.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Dex murmurs, and Nursey stiffens and says, “You know?”

Dex rolls his eyes. “You’re not exactly doing anything to change your voice.”

“No, I guess not. But you won’t - “

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, Nurse,” Dex says softly. “Promise.”

Nursey grins. “Ok.”

  
And he pulls his mask down, flips himself right-side up, and swings away, calling “ _See you at dinner!_ ”

Dex stands there in the alleyway, sopping wet, staring after Nursey’s retreating form, in the rain, his lips still tingling. He just kissed Spider-Man. He just kissed his best friend. He just kissed _Nursey._

The only thought he really has right now is, _What would J. Jonah Jameson think of_ that?

**iii. _Troy - 1209 B.C._**

They’re going to lose the war.

This thought has stayed constant in Derek’s head for the past six months, never ceasing in its insistence, always there, like a mist he can’t seem to look through, obscuring his sight, obscuring his mind, obscuring everything.

More of the Myrmidons are killed every day. He hardly even notices. They’ve been fighting this war for almost nine years, and it feels like nine hundred. Nine hundred years of this mist that just won’t disperse.

He’s supposed to be a hero - he _is_ a hero, the greatest hero, or so they tell him. Invincible. Immortal. Godlike. He plays the part of the fighter because it’s what’s expected of him, because otherwise, he’s worth nothing.

As a warrior, he feels powerful. As a leader, he feels cowardly. The Trojans have been pushing them back towards the shore for so long, and it’ll soon be a mere matter of days before they either all die horrible deaths at the hands of Alexei and his army, or run like cowards and die even more horrible deaths at the hands of the gods, of the gods who punish them for something they started, because to them, it’s all a little game.

He doesn’t know Eric. He’s supposed to be the most beautiful man to ever live, and they’re fighting this war over him. Derek wonders sometimes how he’s feeling. Is he happy? Does he like it in Troy? Does he love Kent? Or does he miss his husband? Is he miserable? Is he feeling the same way Derek is, trapped in a role he never asked for, the protagonist of an epic he never wanted to read?

The Myrmidons are dying, Adam is angrier with every passing minute, Johnson is still scheming, Jack gets grayer every time he lays eyes on him, and Derek -

Derek wishes he could go home. He wishes he could see his father. His mother. Chiron. Anyone.

“They’re waiting for you.”

“ _Will,_ ” he breathes.

Will hesitates at the tent flap for the briefest moment, the way he always does, the way he always has, even though he knows he doesn’t need to. He joins Derek on his mat, slides his hand over Derek’s own.

Will is here, and Derek feels better. Even if just for a moment, the mist is gone.

“I want to go home,” Derek mutters.

“I know,” Will says, running a hand through his fiery hair. “I know.”

Derek kisses him. Every time he kisses Will, it’s different. Every time he kisses him, it’s unique when compared to every one before and every one after, and every time it’s better than the last.

He stands. “Are you staying here?”

Will shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”

So he does, just as he always has and just as he always will.

“We have to push back,” Adam is saying, and Derek wants to punch him in his stupid, giant teeth. “We need someone to lead the men in, put up a fight. If we don’t, we’ll lose.”

“Are you volunteering?” Johnson asks placidly, and there’s a note of irritation beneath the calmness. Adam falls silent.

“Someone has to,” Johnson continues. “Otherwise, the war is over. We’ll have lost. Maybe it’s better that we do. We can end this bloodshed, once and for all.”

Jack speaks, his voice shaky, his eyes dark. They’ve been dark for nine years. “I won’t leave Eric behind.” The words are quiet but firm.

“I’ll do it,” Derek says. “I’ll lead the men in.”

Adam snorts. “Of course you will.”

“No one else is going to,” Derek retorts. “Unless you’d like to step up?”

Adam says nothing.

“All right,” Derek continues. “Then I’ll do it. I’ll lead the men.”

“No, you won’t.” Will stands. “I will.”

Johnson frowns. “You’re no fighter.”

“No,” Will says. “But I am indispensable. And if I wear Derek’s armor, and they think it’s me…it will give them false hope.”

A cold weight of dread sinks into Derek’s stomach. “No. You can’t.”

Will turns to him with pleading golden eyes. “Please. You can’t go out there. Let me do this.”

“I’m invincible,” Derek says desperately. “I wouldn’t have to die. You could. You might.”

He doesn’t say _You will._

Will shakes his head. “You’re not invincible everywhere,” he says, and Derek feels his heel twitch.

And eventually, after what seems like hours of arguing, Derek agrees to let Will go. He doesn’t want to. But Will is stubborn. When he decides on something, he won’t let go of it. So Derek lets him go through with it, feeling the whole time like he’s making an awful, terrible mistake.

On the morning of the battle, Derek wakes early to find his arms empty, Will’s usual spot next to him on his mat cold. He’s standing in the corner, lacing up Derek’s heavy bronze breastplate, or at least, trying to. His fingers keep slipping on the strings.

“Let me help you.” Derek walks over to him, stills his shaking hands, and carefully, gently helps him put on the rest of the armor, trying to pretend that he’s not shaking inside, too.

“Are you ok?” Will asks him. His voice is hoarse-sounding, like he hadn’t fallen asleep last night, and really, it’s a wonder Derek managed to sleep at all, either.

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Are you?”

Will starts to nod but stops halfway. He just stares straight ahead. “I’ll be fine.”

Derek can tell he’s lying.

Will puts on Derek’s helm, and with his face mostly covered and the impressive armor glinting in the cold daylight filtering through the flap in the tent, he really does look the picture of a hero.

“Just promise me,” Derek mutters, running his hands across Will’s shoulders, down his arms, over his biceps. “Promise me you’ll come back once you’ve chased the Trojans away.”

“I promise,” Will says, and it sounds like a death sentence.

Derek kisses the tip of each of his fingertips softly and lets him go.

He doesn’t want to watch. He doesn’t want to see what happens. He’s too afraid. He’s supposed to be the greatest hero of all time, and all he feels is _afraid._ His head swarms with mist. His stomach twists unpleasantly at every far-away yell, every distant clang of metal on metal he hears from the battlefield. He thinks, _Will is out there._ He thinks, _He’ll come back._

But he doesn’t.

Derek finds him. He knows he’s going to when he goes out after Will doesn’t come back. He leaves after the fight, preparing himself for the worst, and still not ready for it when he finds him.

There’s a spear sticking out of Will’s stomach. A look of shock on his face. His body is ice-cold. They even took the armor.

Derek feels like the mist is all around him now, except it isn’t mist, it’s fog, and he can’t see, can’t hear, can’t know, can’t _breathe -_

He drags Will’s body back to camp, because no one else was going to do it, no one else _would_ have done it, not any of the Myrmidons, not Jack, and _certainly_ not Adam. He brings Will’s body back and refuses to let them burn it. He won’t let them take Will away. He won’t.

Derek is so numb he almost forgets to feel sad. But he does, and the grief swallows him whole, destroying him, ripping his body apart with a power that could only be rivaled by the love he felt for Will, and -

He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep. He just sits by Will’s side and wishes he could kiss his lips back to life.

“We need to bury him,” Johnson says gently after two days. “It’s time for his soul to pass on to the Underworld. Denying him that right would be cruel.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just grips Will’s freezing hand a little tighter, and Johnson frowns at him with pity and leaves.

Three days later, Adam comes to him, and he is much less gentle. Derek is surprised it took him this long to make an appearance.

“Let go of him already,” he snarls. “We have battles to fight. He’s nothing anymore. You can’t waste your time on someone who isn’t coming back when there are real, living people dying every day.”

Derek stands and stares into Adam’s face. “You don’t understand. I wouldn’t expect you to. Leave. Now.”

Adam sneers. “I hope I’m wrong in assuming that you’d rather spend time with a corpse than lead your men into victory.”

“I don’t care anymore,” Derek says simply. “About any of it.”

And it’s true. He feels nothing. Nothing but all-consuming, never-ending grief.

Adam stalks away, but Derek knows he’ll be back soon. As soon as possible, with Johnson and Jack and every important person in camp at his heels.

But the next person to visit him isn’t any of these people. It’s his mother.

It’s a cool, clear night. Derek can hear the waves crashing on the beach in the distance. Everyone else is asleep. Everyone else is resting for another day of strategizing, of deciding who’s going to die and who will be cursed to keep living. Derek is by Will’s side, in the medic tent, like he has been ever since…And except for Will, he’s alone.

Until he isn’t. He senses rather than sees her. One moment, nothing, the next, a lilting sea breeze, the smell of salt and seaweed, and the feeling of a presence watching him carefully.

“Mom?”

She’s behind him, thin and pale and as she always has been, her gaunt eyes peering out at him from behind a layer of regret. She’s a goddess, but she isn’t majestic, and she doesn’t command men to their knees like Aphrodite or Hera. Thetis is a bundle of bones wrapped up in a shroud of secrets, the unfathomable black sheep of all her beautiful sisters, and Derek has never, ever seen her smile.

“You know why I’m here,” she says in lieu of greeting him.

Derek swallows hard. He knows why.

“I’m not ready,” he says. “I can’t.”

Thetis crosses her arms. “That doesn’t matter. You _need_ to be ready.”

He shakes his head. “I’m just not. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“You are keeping him from moving on,” she says. “You’re holding on too hard and too fast. If you hold too tight, it’s going to slip away from you.”

“It already has.”

Thetis huffs. “Are you my son?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a hero?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly,” she says. “You’re a fighter. Your men need you. _Greece_ needs you. And I’m not going to sit here and watch you do nothing. I don’t expect better of you. I _require_ better of you. Your _father_ \- “ His mother spits his name, hurls it out like she does every time, like it’s a cloud of dark smoke that she’s trying to expel from her lungs and can never seem to get rid of. “ - would agree with me. You are the greatest warrior Greece has ever known. It’s time for you to be that warrior.”

Derek knows, deep down, that she’s right. Despite her coldness, despite her gauntness and her shadows and her _bones,_ Thetis has never once been wrong.

But.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, averting his eyes. “I can’t.”

Thetis hisses. “I risked _everything_ to give you your power. Do you know what I had to sacrifice to bathe you in the Styx?” Derek doesn’t answer. She continues, “If you can’t be the person you have always been fated to be, then I can see that that sacrifice was wasted on you.” She spits, “You’re just like _him._ ”

And she’s gone again, and Derek can no longer smell seaweed, only heartbreak, and all he can see is mist.

The days trickle by. Derek still refuses to take Will’s side. There’s a drought. The camp slowly begins to run out of water. He suspects his mother is behind it. Johnson schemes. Adam sneers. Jack looks at Derek with eyes full of pity. And then -

And then finally, after weeks and weeks of hollowness and pain and fucking _mist,_ the one person Derek has been missing the most comes to see him.

One moment, Derek is alone, the next, he’s _there._

He’s like a ghost, except not like a ghost at all. He’s a shade, a glimmer of what he once was, and he keeps fading in and out of focus, the edges of his outline blurred with Thanatos’s mark.

“Derek,” he says. His voice sounds like pebbles clattering against each other, nothing like how he sounded when he was still alive, rich and warm and _home._

“Will.” Derek tries to touch him. His hand almost makes contact. And then it passes through the shade’s shoulder like it’s made of wind.

“ _Will,_ ” he says again.

The shade smiles sadly. “You have to let me go.”

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

“I have to move on,” the shade says. “To the Underworld. You’ll be with me someday. You will.”

“I know,” Derek whispers. “I _know._ Gods, Will, you’re _here._ ”

“You knew I’d come.” It isn’t a question. “That’s why you waited.”

His words ring true in Derek’s ears, but he just says, “Had to say goodbye.”

“Now’s your time.”

“Do you know how long,” Derek says suddenly, lifting his eyes. “Do you know how long I have left?”

Something flickers in the shade’s colorless eyes (eyes that should be the clearest, most beautiful _gold_ ). “I can’t tell you,” he says. “Hades forbids it.”

Derek swallows. “ _Please._ ”

The shade looks at him carefully. “I won’t tell you exactly when,” he decides. “But soon. Soon.”

Nine years ago, if Derek had been told he didn’t have much life left to live, he would have begged to all the gods, done anything to secure his almost-immortality. Now, with Will gone, he’s almost comforted to hear that soon, he’ll be reunited with him.

“Ok,” Derek says. “Ok.”

The shade reaches out like he wants to touch Derek’s face. His fingers just flicker in and out against his cheek, not really there at all, but if Derek closes his eyes, he can imagine.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

When Derek opens his eyes again, the shade is gone.

**iv. _Scotland - 1993_**

Does Dex like Quidditch? Silly question - of course he does. Does Dex like being on the house team? Totally. And does Dex like _playing_ Quidditch? He _loves_ it.

But does Dex like playing Slytherin? The answer to that question is a resounding _no._ He hates playing Slytherin. Oh, sure, for the obvious reasons: they’re known cheaters, their captain is a total asshole, their seeker is absolute garbage, and Dex (like any sane person) hates Snape, head of Slytherin house. But there’s another reason, and one that he’s significantly the most angry about: he’s totally in love with one of the Slytherin beaters, Nursey.

Or, well, _Nurse,_ because only the Slytherins call him _Nursey,_ but Dex calls him that, too, and he doesn’t seem to mind.

_(Whatever.)_

Sure, it’d be worse if Dex were in Gryffindor, Slytherin’s sworn enemy, and had to deal with this, but Hufflepuff doesn’t like Slytherin, either. _No one_ does, and however infuriating Nursey might be, he’s the one part of Slytherin that Dex can appreciate.

Quietly. By himself. So that no one knows.

They’re set to play the Slytherins soon, since Hufflepuff (somehow, _miraculously_ , even while going up against Harry fucking _Potter_ ) beat Gryffindor in their last match, and Dex would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. He hasn’t played a game against Nursey since last year, and last year was _torture,_ because that was the year Nursey kept tailing Dex around the pitch the whole time, grinning at him and shooting quips his way. Admittedly, though, the year before _that_ was even _worse,_ because that was when Dex and Nursey were both made prefects for their respective houses, and Dex subsequently discovered after an ill-timed trip to the prefect’s bathroom that Nursey had _abs._

But now they’re seventh years, in their last years at Hogwarts, and things are different. Because after this year, they’ll graduate. Because after this year, Dex might never see Nursey again. Because after this year, they might lose the last chance they have to do something about… _this._

Whatever _this_ is.

“Heads up, Poindexter!”

Dex snaps himself out of his thoughts just in time, and manages to raise his club and beat away the Bludger hurtling at his face before it breaks his nose. It zooms somewhere in the direction of the other end of the pitch, and Dex circles near the chasers, on the watch in case it or its twin comes back around.

Quidditch practice when you’re a beater is somewhat uneventful, because you can defend your team, but you can’t hit anything towards the other team’s players, so Dex mostly just flies lazily around, occasionally rushing forward to stop one of his teammates from getting knocked off their broom.

“That was good flying out there,” Cedric says later after they touch back down in the grass. “If we keep on like that, we’re sure to beat Slytherin.”

Dex admires Cedric’s optimism. If Dex had been captain, he might have not been able to keep his voice convincing-sounding enough. But Dex isn’t in charge and Cedric is, and part of him resents Diggory for that, for securing the captaincy when he’s only a fifth year, and Dex is older and has more experience.

But he can’t _really_ resent Cedric, since he’s so bloody _nice,_ and whoever heard of a beater being captain, anyway?

“Ready for the match?” Holster asks him later, while Dex is sitting in the common room and working on the essay Lupin set on vampires.

“Yeah,” Dex says, instead of saying, _I’m not,_ instead of saying, _I’m so ready, it hurts._

The morning of the match is perfectly sunny, not a cloud in the sky. When Dex meets up with the rest of the team for breakfast in the Great Hall, he’s met with grins from all directions at the Hufflepuff table. The Slytherins, meanwhile, are shooting them dirty glances. All except for Nursey. He nods curtly in Dex’s direction, looking at him and only him, and it’s so different from the sneaky winks and the lazy grins from the previous years that Dex doesn’t even scowl back at him. He just looks down at his plate and feels his stomach turn over, not sure if he likes the sensation or not.

“What’s he looking at you for?” Holster asks, shooting a glare over his shoulder at Nursey. “Don’t pay him any attention, he’s just trying to psyche you out.”

That’s not true, and Dex knows it, but he doesn’t know how to _tell_ Holster this. _He’s_ fine, _his_ boyfriend is in Ravenclaw, and…well, Nursey’s not Dex’s boyfriend, but he’s his _something,_ and Nursey’s _definitely_ not a Ravenclaw.

Dex blinks once and suddenly he’s striding out onto the pitch in his canary yellow robes, the stands erupting with sound all around him. Cedric and Marcus Flint are standing in front of him, shaking hands, and Nursey’s trying to catch Dex’s eye, and Dex won’t look at him, he won’t look at him, he _won’t,_ but he does and Nursey looks at him and they don’t stop until the whistle blows, and even then, Dex is pretty sure they’re still looking at each other, just maybe not so obviously.

_God,_ Dex hates playing Slytherin. He thought it would get better after last year. It got worse instead.

The game drags on forever. Dex and Holster keep themselves occupied with the Bludgers, but both keepers are blocking a lot of shots today, and the scores are inching higher every ten minutes or so. Nursey’s still following him like he did last year, only from a greater distance, like he’s nervous or something.

Maybe Dex understands that.

Things come to a head when Slytherin’s leading by ten points. One minute, nothing’s happening, the next, Dex spots the Slytherin seeker, Malfoy, streaking up one end of the pitch, in hot pursuit of what Dex can only assume is the Snitch, even if he can’t see it. Cedric gains speed on him, manages to pass Malfoy and take the lead, and Dex sees what Cedric doesn’t see: Flint is flying towards him, ready to cut him off before he can reach the Snitch. Dex rushes for the nearest Bludger, aiming to hit it towards Flint but then -

_Wham._ Another Slytherin chaser slams into his side, and then suddenly Nursey is in front of him, and the third chaser barrels into him, and he falls backwards into Dex, and then Dex is falling off his broom and (thankfully) passing out before he hits the ground.

He wakes up in the hospital wing to a throbbing headache and his leg held up in a sling. His mouth tastes and feels like sand. He turns to the bedside table on his right to grab his glass of water and sees Nursey lying in the bed next to him.

“You’re awake,” Nursey remarks.

Dex drinks his entire glass. “How long was I out?” he asks, wiping the back of his mouth.

“Not long,” Nursey says. His wrist is wrapped up in bandages, and he’s got a square of gauze taped to his cheek. “Just a few hours.”

Dex lets his head fall onto his pillow, shutting his eyes and sighing tiredly. “Who won the match?” he asks, but he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“We did,” Nursey mumbles, and Dex feels himself deflate.

So they’re out of the running, and Dex will never get to win the cup for Hufflepuff. He’ll have to get a job at the Ministry like his mother wants him to, instead of playing Quidditch professionally like _he_ wants to.

“Sorry, Poindexter,” Nursey says quietly, and Dex knows he’s being serious.

“It’s fine,” Dex mutters, wondering why he’s saying so, because things are most certainly not fine. “It’s just a school sports game.” He swallows roughly, not wanting Nursey to see how upset he is about this, and, casting around for a subject change, asks, “What happened to us, anyway? I remember falling off my broom, but not much else.”

Nursey’s face hardens like stone. “Warrington and Montague tag-teamed you when they saw that you were trying to help Diggory,” he says, sounding disgusted. “I tried to stop them, but they just pushed me into you, and then we…fell.”

Dex hears the unspoken words ring in the silence that follows. _I saved you._

“Weren’t they mad?” Dex asks. “That you were helping me?”

Nursey huffs. “I told them I was trying to hit you from the other side and lost control of my aim. They believed me.” He scowls. “Wankers.”

“They’re your teammates,” Dex says, but he knows Nursey’s never really been proud of the people he hangs around with.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like them,” Nursey says defensively.

“Sorry.”

Nursey sighs. “No, it’s ok.” He looks glum. “I just wish I could actually be _proud_ of my house, you know?”

Dex isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s in Hufflepuff - they don’t often get much glory, but they’re not hated like Slytherin is. They’re supposed to be the house of loyal and fair people, and that’s why people always call them _soft._

But Dex isn’t _soft,_ and he knows Nursey isn’t a prick, so maybe they’re both a little different.

“Has my - ?“ Dex starts, trying to break the silence.

“So what are you - ?” Nursey says at the same time.

“You first,” Nursey says, grinning.

“I was just wondering,” Dex says. “If my team’s been to see me?”

Nursey nods. “Yeah, they came by once they carried you in. They all looked pretty upset. I guess they must care about you a lot.”

That much is probably true, but the most likely reason for the team being upset is because they lost the match, not because Dex almost broke his back. He doesn’t voice this to Nursey, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“What were you going to say?” Dex asks, realizing that, after years of stolen glances and charged silences, this is probably the longest he’s ever held a conversation with Nursey.

Nursey opens his mouth. “Well, I - “ But he breaks off again, because Holster bursts loudly through the doors to the hospital wing (prompting an angry glare from Madam Pomfrey), strides up to Dex’s bed, and proceeds to talk his ear off, about everything from the match to the Transfiguration homework Dex has to make up to what he had for lunch today. Nursey shrinks back into his sheets and occupies himself with the box of Every Flavor Beans one of his teammates must have left him.

“Anyway, no one blames you, dude,” Holster says, circling back around to the match. “You were trying to stop Flint, it’s not your fault that you got creamed. And then Flint intercepted Cedric, and - “ He kicks at the floor angrily. “That little shit Malfoy got the Snitch.”

“Right,” Dex says quietly, the full weight of the loss of the match sinking in on him again. He can’t help but feel partly responsible for it - if he had just been quicker getting to that Bludger, if he had been a little less obvious about what he was about to do, he could’ve gotten Flint out of the way, and Hufflepuff would have won. Now, he and the rest of his team will have to watch Gryffindor (probably) beat Ravenclaw, and then face off against Slytherin in the final, from the stands, wishing they were the ones up in the air.

It isn’t fair. Dex wishes he had a Time-Turner, so he could go back and fix this thing.

Ugh.

“Hey,” Holster says suddenly, in a much quieter tone than before. “ _He’s_ not giving you any trouble, is he?” He jerks his head forcefully in Nursey’s direction, keeping his back to him. Nursey doesn’t say anything, but Dex sees his shoulders tense.

“Uh, no,” Dex mumbles. “He’s not giving me any trouble, no.”

Holster hums suspiciously. “All right, well, if he _does,_ let me know. Rans and I will totally beat him up for you.”

“Haha,” Dex says, trying to smile and failing. “Right.”

Holster claps his hands together. “Ok, well, I gotta go, but you’ll be out of here by tonight, right? So I’ll see you back in the common room later?”

“Yeah, see you.”

Dex watches Holster leave, Madam Pomfrey looking thoroughly relieved that he’s gone.

“Sorry,” he says to Nursey immediately. “He doesn’t know you’re cool, it’s just…”

“It’s just that I’m a Slytherin,” Nursey says bitterly.

“Well,” Dex says, looking away. “Yeah…”

Nursey sighs. “ _Fuck._ I wish I were in Gryffindor.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah, sometimes I wish that, too.”

Nursey looks over at him and smiles, and Dex smiles back, feeling his innards writhe and twist around each other in his stomach.

“What _were_ you going to ask me before?” Dex hopes beyond hope that Nursey still wants to tell him.

“Oh,” Nursey says. “I was just going to ask what you wanted to do. You know, after school.”

“Quidditch,” Dex says automatically, the same answer that he’s had ready on his tongue since he was five years old and was first asked this question. “At least, that’s what I _wish_ I could do.”

Nursey raises an eyebrow. “Why can’t you?”

Dex shakes his head. “ _Everyone_ wants to play Quidditch professionally. But not everyone’s good enough to make it, and I’d probably be safer working some boring Ministry desk job with good pay than wasting my team on trying to make it big in sports.” He swallows roughly. “Whatever supports my family best, that’s what I have to do.”

“Quidditch would support your family,” Nursey points out. “You play Quidditch for Ireland or something, and you’re rolling in Galleons. Besides, I think you’re good enough. _More_ than good enough, to be honest.”

“Really?” Dex asks skeptically.

“Really,” Nursey echoes, without a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Dex is pretty sure his large intestine is strangling his small intestine, but he says, “Oh, cool.” And then, “What do _you_ want to do?”

Nursey grins. “Quidditch,” he says, and they both burst out laughing.

“I think,” Dex says, once they’ve been shushed by Madam Pomfrey and have calmed down a bit. “I think - shut up, Nurse - I think that you’re good enough to make it, too.”

Nursey smiles at that. “I can’t wait to play on a team with people I actually like.”

Dex hums. Once again, he’s not really sure what to say to that.

“Hey,” Nursey says abruptly. “What if we were on the same team?”

“That would be pretty cool,” Dex says, imagining it and feeling his heart start to race.

“No, seriously,” Nursey says. He pushes himself up on his bed, leaning over and talking softly to Dex like he’s the only person in the world. “What if we were? What if we got signed to the same team, or the same reserve team, or whatever? What if we were beaters?”

Another silence, another unspoken thought: _What if we were_ together?

“That would be cool,” Dex repeats, breathless, his heart beating in his throat. “That would be really, really cool.”

“Yeah,” Nursey says, more calmly, leaning his head back onto his pillow and staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. It would be.”

Dex doesn’t say anything else on it, but the next day, he starts combing the _Daily Prophet_ for teams with beater vacancies in the upcoming season. Somehow, he suspects Nursey is doing the same.

**v. _Long Island, New York - 1924_**

Every Friday night, Derek Nurse has a party at his ginormous mansion on the water. And every Friday night, Will is there, among the crowds of hundreds, thousands of people, all of whom seem to know Nurse, each and every one of them different from the rest. Admirals, businessmen, opera singers, soldiers, tailors, painters, musicians, chefs, writers, all different sorts of people from all different corners of the world. Each night, Will sees new faces, learns new names, and rarely sees them again afterward.

Nurse is only as old as Will. Will wonders how it is that Nurse knows so many people, while Will only has a few close friends. But just because they’re the same age, it doesn’t make them alike in any other way, and Will and Nurse are two very different men.

Will hadn’t even really been invited the first couple of weeks he’d spent at his new house. He’d just taken his Friday nights at home in his study, writing or reading or doing something to occupy his mind, trying not to take notice of the sounds of voices and swing music and motorcars from not too far away, trying not to take notice of his own bitter, pathetic loneliness. Will has always been a lonely type of person; he doesn’t have too many acquaintances, his parents are dead, his siblings are all scattered across the globe, and he’s never taken a wife. All he has for company is his cook and his gardener - and he’s not really their friend so much as he is their employer.

He’d always felt a little envious of the events at Nurse’s house, wishing, privately, that he could join in the fun. It’s not that Will loves parties or anything - he doesn’t hate them, but he can only interact with people for so long before he becomes exhausted - but he’d wanted to _see_ what this Nurse fellow was all about. He’d heard a lot about him, or rather, he’d _not_ heard a lot about him, and it was what Will _hadn’t_ heard that he’d wanted to find out. Nurse’s background. His family. How he made all his money. Why there is always that green light shining on his dock, shining through the mist like some sort of ghostly specter.

And then the first invitation from Nurse had arrived in the mail, and Will had been so surprised that he hadn’t gone to the party. By the time the second one came around, he had been better prepared.

Now he goes every time. Maybe it’s because he’s looking for something to occupy himself, to fill the lonely gap in his life and give himself something to do, something to make himself happier. Or maybe it’s because that although Will has only known Derek Nurse for three months, there’s still so much he has yet to learn about the man.

So much he’s itching to discover.

Because Derek Nurse is an unfathomable human being. He’s mysterious. He’s charming. He can talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime. Will’s pretty sure he’s never seen him _not_ smile. Derek Nurse is popular, and intelligent, and witty, and when he tells a story, his expressive eyes catch the light in an almost ethereal way, and his words draw Will in and tangle him within them, turn him up and around and upside-down, and…

Nurse likes everyone, and everyone likes Nurse. Will is just fairly certain he likes him quite a bit more than anyone else does, quite a bit more than he’s strictly allowed to.

That scares him. It also leaves him wanting more. But then that’s the effect of Nurse: he’s like finest wine, richest chocolate. Captivating. Dangerous. Exhilarating.

It’s at one of his many, many parties that Will finds himself not out by the pool, drink in hand and swaying to the jazz music like usual, nor even in the lavish dining room or elegant parlor. He’s in the library, one of the only rooms in the entire place that’s empty, and he’s running his hands along the spines of the books, half-expecting to pull one out and trigger some sort of revolving door mechanism, because it seems exactly the sort of thing Nurse would have.

“Hello, old sport.”

Will jumps. Speak of the devil. Nurse is leaning against the doorframe, smiling calmly and looking at Will like he expects him to laugh at some joke he’s just made.

“Sorry,” Will says, feeling his ears turn red like they always seem to around Nurse. “I just…needed a break.”

Nurse laughs, clear and warm and pleasant-sounding. “It’s all right. Sometimes I wish I could take a break.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

Nurse’s eyes twinkle. “I suppose.” He straightens himself up, fixes his collar. “Fancy a walk?”

Will frowns. “Won’t your guests miss you?”

Nurse shrugs. “They see me all the time, even though they come from all over. You’re my neighbor and I’ve hardly spent any time with you.”

Will swallows, lingering, unsure where to go next. “You see _me_ at parties, too.”

“But not when it’s just us,” Nurse says softly, and Will puts on his sport coat and follows him out of the door without a second thought.

What seems like a million different partygoers try to talk to Nurse on their way out into the yard. Will doesn’t recognize a single one of them, can’t even comprehend how Nurse manages to know and remember so many people, and feels slightly self-conscious of his own social ineptitude. Luckily, although they all try and wrangle Nurse into their respective conversations, Nurse politely declines each and every one of them like it’s nothing at all, leaving Will to follow him through the sea of guests and down to the waterfront.

“How do you do it?” Will asks, as Nurse reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out an engraved silver lighter and a couple of cigarettes.

“Do what, old sport?” Nurse says around the cigarette between his lips. He lights it and inhales deeply, blowing the smoke out slowly in one long stream of breath. Will watches for a moment, and then says,

“How do you remember all those people?”

Nurse grins. He holds the other cigarette out and Will takes it from him, his fingers brushing Nurse’s electrically for half a second. Nurse lights it for him, and Will lifts it to his mouth but doesn’t take a drag yet. He watches Nurse expectantly, waiting.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Nurse says, staring out at the misty water. “I don’t remember all of them, not really. Too many faces to learn, too many names to keep track of. If I don’t recognize someone, I pretend I do. I get them talking about themselves, and they remind me without even knowing they’re doing it.” He fixes Will with a look that’s impossible to place, almost smiling but not quite. “Most people love nothing more than to talk about themselves,” he adds quietly.

Will sucks in a mouthful of smoke, coughing slightly on the out. “Doesn’t it get tiring? All these people? All these parties?”

Nurse shrugs. “I suppose. But it’s entertaining. I think that’s what counts. A life lived without fun isn’t a life lived at all.”

Will ponders that. Does he have an entertaining life? He works. He writes. He eats meals with the cook and the gardener. It isn’t dull; how could it be, when he comes here every week? But…it is repetitive. A little uneventful. Plain.

“Do you have family?”

The question pulls Will out of his reverie. Nurse is staring expectantly at him.

“I,” Will says. “Well, yes. I have a younger brother who lives in London, and an older brother in Chicago. He came back from the war shell-shocked and with his right leg gone. He has a wife and children, but…” Will swallows. “I’m not sure how much time he spends with them.” He quickly takes another puff of the cigarette.

Nurse nods gravely. “Anyone else?”

Will exhales, managing not to cough this time. “My sister lives in Beirut. She left with some friends to travel the world and ended up there. I haven’t seen her for a while.”

“No parents?” Nurse asks.

Will shakes his head. “They died a few years back.”

Nurse hums. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

They smoke for a moment in silence, looking out at the water instead of each other, though Will sneaks a few glances at Nurse from out of the corner of his eye. He seems so different, here by the dark water, different and yet so similar to how he is around a large group of people. It perplexes Will, but then, most things do.

Nurse catches him staring and smiles. “Well, go on.”

“What?” Will says, feeling the tips of his ears flush.

“You’re looking at me,” Nurse says lightly. “When people want to know something, they usually just ask me.” The corners of his lips twitch. “No one ever looks at me like that. What do you want to ask me?”

What _doesn’t_ he want to ask him?

“The green light,” Will blurts before he can even think about it. “Why is it always on?”

Nurse looks surprised, and then his expression closes off, and his face takes on a mask-like quality. “It’s…” He trails off.

Will watches him, takes a pull off his cigarette with shaking fingers.

“…It’s a reminder,” Nurse decides finally, not meeting Will’s eyes. “Of someone I knew a long time ago.”

“Oh,” Will says, feeling stupid for even having asked, because clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. “Ok.”

Nurse moves abruptly, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out in the dirt. He smooths the folds of his sport coat, still refusing to look at Will.

“What do you say we head back to the party, old sport?” Nurse asks, doing a poor job of sounding casual and nonchalant. Will’s never heard his voice like this before.

“Head back to the - ?”

Nurse nods emphatically. “Yes. I shouldn’t keep my guests waiting for too long.” He turns to leave.

Something possesses Will, for the most fleeting of seconds, to grab Nurse’s wrist. So he does.

Nurse looks back and blinks, swallows roughly, and Will tracks the movement of his Adam’s apple. “You’ve, uh - you’re holding me back.”

“I’m sorry,” Will says pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Nurse looks away again. “You didn’t offend me, old sport, I’m just…tired.”

What could Derek Nurse be tired of? He has it all. Money. Glory. _Women._

But maybe he isn’t as happy as Will thought.

“Me too,” Will says, nodding just to do something with the energy thrumming through him. “I’m tired, too.”

Nurse looks at him, and something mysterious and unfathomable, yet incredibly _real_ settles into his eyes. “All right, old sp - Will,” he amends, and Will suppresses a shudder. “All right.”

And he claps Will on the shoulder, looks at him for a moment, and walks back up to the house.

And Will follows him.

**vi. _Brooklyn, New York - 2020_**

Actually, it sort of happens on accident.

“Wait, so Lardo and I are at our place,” Shitty says, the box on his part of the screen highlighting as he speaks. “And Rans and Holtz have got their apartment, and Chowder’s staying with Farmer’s family, and obviously you Bittlemann-Zimbits fuckers are down in Madison…Nursey, Dex, _brahs,_ where does that leave you dudes?”

Nursey shrugs. “I’m just here, man. My roommate moved out three months ago.”

“I’m at my sister’s apartment,” Dex says. His screen is all pixelated and grainy like he has shit internet connection, which, knowing where Dex lives, makes a lot of sense. His audio’s fuzzy and his screen keeps freezing at the most unflattering moments possible. Nursey’s taken at least twenty screenshots already.

“Just you and her?” Shitty asks.

It’s hard to tell because of the quality, but Nursey is pretty sure Dex rolls his eyes. “Her boyfriend’s here, too.”

Lardo groans. “ _Dude._ Not Keith. That guy is _such_ an asswipe.”

Dex snorts. “Tell me about it. He keeps walking into the kitchen naked while I’m making breakfast. It’s like he has absolutely no shame.”

“Oh, come on,” Ransom says. “Shitty used to do that all the time.”

“Still does,” Lardo supplies.

“Yeah, but Shitty’s cool,” Dex says. “Keith is an _asshole._ ”

Nursey cuts in. He can’t help himself. “Is he really that bad, Poindexter, or are you just being a control freak again?”

Dex flips him off. It freezes that way. Nursey gets a picture of it.

“Shut the fuck up, Nursey,” he says offhandedly, like he always does. He hasn’t really _meant_ those words for…a long-ass time, that’s for sure.

At least, Nursey hopes so.

“Anyway,” Dex continues. “I love my sister, but her taste in men is absolute shit. And when these guys fuck…they fuck _loud._ ”

“Gross,” Bitty says.

“Nice,” Holster says.

“You gotta get out of there. Nothing good can come of men who fuck too loud and don’t wear clothes,” Shitty advises sagely.

“Shitty, that’s _you._ ”

“Talking about yourself there, eh?”

“Shut it, _Byron._ ”

Shitty waves his hand. “Whatever. Dex, brah, dude, _my guy,_ don’t you have someone else you can move in with?”

“What, this late into quarantine?” Dex asks. “There’s no way anyone would be ok with that.”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty says sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“You could come stay with me,” Nursey says, loudly, too loud. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Chowder starts clapping his hands like he always does when he gets really excited. “Aw! Two-person Frog reunion!!!”

Dex just sort of blinks. “You’d be cool with that?”

Nursey shrugs, trying to make the gesture look casual. Internally, he’s screaming and asking himself _why the fuck he thought this was a good idea,_ but externally he just says, nonchalantly, like it doesn’t even matter at all,

“Yeah, dude. I’m all lonely up here. It’s chill.”

Holster whistles. “Aha. Methinks some enemies-to-lovers hijinks might go down.”

“Nah, brah, it’s more like _idiots-to-lovers,_ ” Ransom says. “As long as there’s a good amount of - “

“ - _and there was only one bed,_ ” Holster finishes, looking starry-eyed at Ransom. “You complete me.”

Nursey’s heart is doing some interesting acrobatics inside his chest. “What? It’s not - We’re just _rooming_ together, guys. And that’s even _if_ Dex wants to. Lol.”

“I want to,” Dex says, and Nursey gets a little dizzy.

“Yeah, ok,” he says numbly. “Great. Rad. Chill.”

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that last time you guys roomed together, it ended with Dex in the basement?” Jack says. “You two aren’t going to do that again, are you?”

“Nah, man,” Nursey says. “We’re older now. It’s different…”

And now Nursey’s fucked himself over big time. He hasn’t actually interacted with Dex one-on-one in…god, not since _senior year,_ probably, and that was… _two years ago._

That wouldn’t be that much of an issue, except that it’s been twice that long since Nursey realized that he’s all-the-way, no-joke, completely-totally-utterly in love with Will Poindexter. Not even a little bit ironically, either.

And he’s just invited him to live with him, alone, for an indefinite amount of time, in the middle of a goddamn global pandemic. Where all they’re going to do is spend time with each other, and see each other, and _be in the same living space at literally all possible times._

It’ll be just like junior year, except worse, because Nursey won’t have school or hockey practice to distract himself with. Plus, he and Dex will have to share a shower only with each other instead of with the whole Haus. And, chyeah, it’s true that Nursey only has one bed, _thanks very much Ransom and Holster,_ but he’ll just…he’ll sleep on the couch. Plus, if it comes down to it, he can jerk off in relative peace, albeit quietly. Yeah. No problem.

No problem.

“Hi,” Dex says when Nursey opens the door to his apartment.

“Hi,” Nursey says back, feeling strangely out of breath, though he’s pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with the mask he’s wearing. They sort of stand there for a few minutes in semi-awkward silence.

Dex raises his eyebrows. He’s wearing a lobster-patterned mask. Of _course_ he is. “Are you going to let me in or what, Nurse?”

Nursey swallows. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, stepping aside and giving Dex a wide berth as he walks over the threshold.

“So, my stuff’s all pretty clean,” Dex says as Nursey shuts the door. “But I can sanitize it all again if you want me to.”

“Sure.”

Dex takes off his mask, still keeping a good distance away from Nursey. His hair’s gotten a little longer, curling around his ears like it used to during roadie season. Nursey’s mouth goes dry.

“I’m staying on your couch, right?”

Nursey peels off his own mask. “I mean, you can have the bed if you want.”

Dex rolls his eyes, and Nursey can see it perfectly clear this time, no pixelation at all. “I’m not taking your bed, Nursey.”

“Suit yourself. Too bad we don’t still have the bunk beds.”

Dex smiles, and Nursey likes the idea of it being a private smile, just for him, only for him. “Yeah. I wonder if Lardo’s coin is still there.”

“Dude, I _hope_ so.”

Dex drops his stuff on Nursey’s couch and goes to shower. Nursey tries to busy himself while he’s gone and very pointedly _not_ think about the wide range of things that might happen as a result of Dex moving in with him. He also tries not to think about Dex in the shower, because he made that mistake one too many times back in sophomore year, and it _really_ affected his play.

By the time Dex gets out, Nursey’s started dinner, just to give his hands something to do. Dex throws on a sweatshirt, sits on the couch and starts looking at his phone, because he’s an antisocial walnut who doesn’t know how to start a conversation.

“So, when’d Colleen and Keith start dating?”

He can practically _hear_ Dex’s eye-roll as he gets up and moves over to the kitchen table.

“About six months ago,” Dex says. “And she’s had some bad boyfriends, but he’s definitely her worst one yet.”

Nursey whistles, mincing some garlic. “That bad, huh?”

“Dude. _So_ bad. He’s one of those guys who think that liking _The Office_ is a personality trait.”

Nursey laughs. “But that’s just a normal straight dude thing. What is it that _really_ sets him apart?”

Dex is quiet for a second before he says, “Well, he called me a fag.”

Nursey slips and just barely avoids cutting his finger off. “What?”

Dex is staring down at the tabletop, tracing the grain in the wood with one finger. “Yeah. He’s done it a couple of times, actually. Sometimes in a joking way. Sometimes not. I’ve asked him not to say it, but he keeps doing it.”

“Does your sister know?”

Dex shrugs. “If she does, she hasn’t said anything.”

“Dex,” Nursey says. “That’s - That’s not cool. He shouldn’t do that.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah, no shit, Derek.”

Nursey stirs the pasta carefully, unable to stop himself from scowling. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now, then.”

“Yeah,” Dex says. “Me too.”

Later, Dex makes fun of Nursey for calling his food “Spaghetti a lá Nursey,” and Nursey makes fun of Dex for listening to fucking Mumford and Sons, and they both make fun of Archie Andrews on TV when he says he got attacked by a bear, and it’s so much like how it was back at Samwell that Nursey feels like they never even left each other. That’s the thing about Nursey and Dex - when they’re not arguing, they click together really well. They can find this sort of equilibrium, and stick there. Dex will always be a thermostat czar and Nursey will always silently pine after him, and it’ll be like that forever.

Apparently, the universe decided to change the definition of _forever_ to _just a few days._ Funnily enough, the universe subsequently neglected to give Nursey a heads up about this.

“Ugh.”

Nursey rolls his shoulders back, trying to get at least a little bit of the tension to ease out of them. He leans his head on his hand, looks up to see if Dex is paying attention to him. He isn’t.

“Ugh,” Nursey says, louder.

Dex doesn’t even blink.

“ _Ughhhhhhhhhhh._ ”

Dex finally looks up from his phone. “Jesus Christ, Nurse, _what._ ”

Nursey sighs long-sufferingly. “I hate work.”

Dex raises an eyebrow. “You write for a living.”

“So?”

“I thought you _liked_ writing.”

“I _do,_ ” Nursey says. “It’s simultaneously my favorite and least favorite thing to do.”

Dex hums. “What time did you say you would stop working?”

“Five,” Nursey yawns.

“Dude, it’s five-thirty. Sign off already.”

Nursey pretends like he didn’t notice that he’s worked for half an hour longer than he was supposed to. “Oh shit, really? Damn, I guess I’d better stop.”

Dex frowns. “Do you always overwork yourself?”

“No,” Nursey lies.

Dex’s frown deepens. In fact, if Nursey’s not mistaken, it seems like he actually looks sort of _worried_ for him.

“You did the same thing back in college,” he accuses Nursey, pointing at him. “You worked too hard for too long and you never got any sleep.”

Nursey rolls his eyes. “Come on, man, that’s not even a little bit true.”

Dex glares. “Nursey, I _roomed_ with you. I _noticed_ those things. You shouldn’t do that. It isn’t good for you.”

Nursey holds up his hands in an I-surrender gesture. “Ok, ok, I’m stopping.” He saves his work and closes his laptop. “All right? I’m done for the day.”

Dex nods. “Good. Great.”

Nursey leans back in his chair, letting his head fall back so he can stare at the ceiling. “Don’t you have a job? Why aren’t _you_ working?”

“It’s Saturday,” Dex’s voice reminds him.

“Oh. Right.”

“Dude,” Dex says. “You’re really tense.”

“Am I?” Nursey says through gritted teeth, sitting up straight again. “I had no idea, Poindexter. But, yeah, you’re right. My job is difficult, and it wears me the fuck out, and it stresses me, and, _yeah,_ it makes me tense, Will, what do you suggest I do about it?”

Dex’s expression stays perfectly neutral. He just says, “Jesus, Nursey, when was the last time you got laid?”

Nursey scowls. “That’s - That’s so not important.”

Dex shrugs. “Just figured I’d ask.”

He goes back to scrolling through his phone.

Nursey groans. “ _Too long,_ ok?”

“Yeah,” Dex sighs, frowning again. “Same for me.”

_This is pathetic,_ Nursey thinks. Just two single dudes, living in an apartment together, with absolutely fuck-all to do and a fair amount of horniness on both sides. Sitting here, at Nursey’s kitchen table, while the rain pours down outside and Nursey’s shitty fridge makes weird creaking noises, and -

“We could always hook up, you know.”

Nursey looks at him. “Haha, very funny.”

“No, really,” Dex says. He looks uncomfortable, but also sincere. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything. It’ll just be like a friends-with-benefits situation. Nothing will change.”

Nursey sighs, working hard to control his heart rate. “How are _you_ the one suggesting this?”

Dex shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Nursey thinks about it. And then he thinks about it some more. And then he thinks about it a little more, just for good measure.

This is a terrible idea.

“Let’s do it,” Nursey says, trying to pass as casual, trying to breathe at a normal rate. “Why not, right?”

Dex looks surprised. “I - I didn’t think you’d actually say _yes._ ”

Nursey tries on a grin that he hopes doesn’t look too shaky. “And I never thought you’d ask me something like this, but here we are.”

Dex swallows and nods. “So - so like, _now,_ or - I mean, how do you want to…”

“Later,” Nursey says. “Later. We’ll figure it out.”

“Ok,” Dex says breathlessly. “Ok.”

Nursey spends the next hour locked in his room ridding himself of his boner and mulling it all over in his head. Is this a good idea? No. Is it a smart idea? Also no. Nursey’s seen enough soap operas and teen dramas to know that friends-with-benefits almost always ends up becoming more trouble than it’s worth. People catch feelings, and it becomes this whole mess that drags out pointlessly for entire seasons worth of TV time. Nursey has also already _caught_ feelings for the boy in question. A while ago. So there’s literally no way he’ll walk out of this thing without getting his heart broken.

_So just don’t do it,_ he tells himself. _Let Dex know that you’ve changed your mind. He’s not going to get mad about it._

_But why not?_ the other side of him says. _Why not try it out? You’ve wanted this since frog year. This might be the only chance you ever get._

_I’ll sleep on it,_ Nursey decides. _I’ll know what to do in the morning._

When he wakes up sweating in the middle of the night from a _very_ vivid dream, Nursey realizes his mind has pretty much been made up for him, whether he likes it or not (and he thinks he might like it, he thinks he might).

Oddly enough, the time spent leading up to the first time isn’t all that awkward. It feels like it should be, like Dex should be acting really uncomfortable and like Nursey should be way more nervous about it than he actually is, but it also sort of makes sense that it isn’t like that. Like they’ve already used up all their awkwardness at Samwell and now they can just… _exist._

They get into one argument, another minor tussle over Nursey working himself too hard (not that it’s any of Dex’s business, anyway), but other than that, things run pretty smoothly. And then -

Then they’re watching _National Treasure_ on Nursey’s sofa and they’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch but they’re still so close, so close, and Nursey can barely pay any attention to the movie because Dex is right there with his baggy sweatshirt, and his face all illuminated from the glow of the TV screen, and he’s _right there -_

“Nursey,” Dex says. “You’re staring at me.”

Nursey snaps himself out of it. He scoffs. “Tch. No, I’m not.”

Dex is giving him major side-eye right now. “Dude. I _saw_ you.”

Nursey yawns. “Well, maybe you want to get your vision checked, dude, because I wasn’t looking at you. Nic Cage has my complete and total undivided attention.”

“What’s happening in the movie right now, Nurse?”

Nursey blinks. “Well, it - they’re trying to steal the Declaration of Independence…”

“Uh-huh,” Dex says, sounding unimpressed. He moves closer. “Great attention to detail there, man.”

“Shut up,” Nursey fires back, staring at the screen and shifting a little closer himself. “I totally wasn’t staring at you.”

“You totally were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wa - “

But before Nursey can finish his sentence, Dex is leaning over and cupping his face and pulling him into a rough kiss.

“Fuck,” Nursey mutters, pulling back after a good fifteen seconds and breathing hard. “Fuck, Dex, _fuck._ ”

Dex is still holding onto Nursey’s face. His eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his hands are so, so _warm,_ fuck how are his hands so _warm?_

“Do you want to - ?”

“Yeah. _God,_ yeah, I do,” Nursey says, and Dex kisses him again and Nursey forgets everything else.

He’s not totally sure how it happens, but somehow Nursey ends up on top of Dex, and Dex is sort of writhing underneath him, and Nursey can’t hear anything except Dex’s breathing and his own heartbeat, and then Dex goes, “ _Nurse,_ ” and this has to be, without a doubt, the hottest thing Nursey’s ever done in his life.

He leans back up. “We should probably turn the TV off,” he says, and Dex, who still has his hands up Nursey’s shirt, grins and they turn the TV off and go back into Nursey’s room, and then…

When Nursey wakes up the next morning, Dex isn’t there. And he isn’t on the couch, either. There’s a text from him saying that he went for his morning run (and Nursey doesn’t need it, because he still remembers Dex’s schedule from college, and it hasn’t changed much), and somehow, despite everything that happened the night before, despite the fact that Nursey kissed and made out with and did a lot more things with Dex, things that he’s wanted to do for years, he feels completely empty.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, because they’ve hooked up once and he’s already in way too deep. This…

This will not end well.

**vii. _Verona, Italy - 1581_**

Chowder’s in love again. Nursey says “again” because it happens a lot. Way more than it should, at any rate.

Nursey’s only been in love one time, and… _well._ No matter. Chowder’s waxing poetic about his fair lady, how he can never be with her, and how he doesn’t want to crash this party, not because he’s afraid of getting caught, but because he’s too _sad to dance._

Ridiculous.

“Is love a tender thing?” Chowder laments. “It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn.” He fiddles with the strings on his doublet miserably.

Nursey snorts. “If love be rough with you, be rough with love,” they say, shooting a meaningful glance at Dex over Chowder’s shoulder. “Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

Chowder groans a long-suffering groan and gives Nursey one of those pathetic looks he’s perfected so well.

Nursey lifts their mask to their face and swiftly ties the ribbon around their head. “Give me a case to put my visage in! A visor for a visor. What care I what curious eye cote _deformities?_ Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.” They gesture to their mask. Dex puts his on. Chowder keeps his dejected air about him.

“Come, knock and enter,” Dex says. “And no sooner in but every man betake him to his legs.”

Nursey flashes him a smirk, a sort of _I’ll-dance-with-you-and-I-wouldn’t-mind-taking-you-to-your-legs-either_ thing, while Chowder makes another excuse as to why he can’t join them.

Knowing Chowder, once he gets inside the party (and he’ll go, he always does), he’ll find a totally new person to moon over, and this other girl will be completely forgotten.

  
First, they have to actually get him to go _in,_ though.

“I dreamt a dream tonight,” Chowder says.

Nursey raises an eyebrow. “And so did I.”

“Well, what was yours?”

“That dreamers often lie.”

And then they spin him some fable about Queen Mab, because that’s what Nursey does best, they tell stories, and they create worlds, and they help their friends get out of their slumps, and if a monologue about the ruler of dreams is what Chowder needs right now, then by God, he’s going to get it.

“Peace, peace!” Chowder exclaims, but he’s smiling just the same, no longer carrying the same morose expression as before. “Nursey, peace. Thou talk' st of nothing.”

Dex chuckles and Nursey glares at him. “True, I talk of dreams,” they say. “Which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air and more inconstant than the wind, who woos even now the frozen bosom of the north, and, being angered, puffs away from thence, turning his face to the dew-dropping south.”

Chowder gives them a look that plainly says _I-have-no-idea-what-in-God’s-name-you’re-talking-about,_ but Dex chuckles again and says, cocking his eyebrows challengingly in Nursey’s direction,

“This _wind_ you talk of blows us from ourselves. Supper is done, and we shall come too late.”

Chowder shakes his head. “I fear too early, for my mind misgives some consequence…”

Nursey tunes him out for a moment. They love Chowder, but sometimes he just talks _too much._ And this coming from Nursey. Dex smirks at them as Chowder prattles on, and Nursey smirks back, and for a second, it feels like Chowder is invisible, and it’s just them, only them, and no one else.

And then Dex breaks away and says, “Strike, drum,” and they go inside.

Nursey has fun at the party. They dance, dance with Dex and drink wine until their head feels light and in danger of spinning off their body, and then they drink some more. Dex keeps on raising his eyebrows at them like he’s confused or perplexed or _something,_ but Nursey doesn’t know why he would be. It’s just like any other night, and Nursey is _drunk,_ and Dex’s hair looks as radiant as fire.

It’s a good time, it’s a good time…and then Chowder almost gets himself killed, and they have to leave.

“What is the matter with him?” Nursey asks, raising their eyebrows as they watch Chowder run ahead of them into the night.

  
Dex sighs. “’Tis a woman, most likely.”

Nursey nods. It usually is.

Dex frowns. “Chowder!”

Chowder is nowhere to be seen. It’s late, and Dex is probably feeling tired, but all Nursey wants to do is go back in and party some more.

“He is wise,” Nursey says, rolling their shoulders back. “And, on my life, hath stol’n him home to bed.”

Dex shakes his head. “He ran this way and leapt this orchard wall. Call for him.”

Nursey jumps up, sweeping their cloak around themself. “Nay, I’ll conjure too! Chowder! Humors, madman, passion, lover!” They raise their voice as high as it will go, their words slurred with drink. “Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh! Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied. Cry but ‘Ay me!’ Pronounce but ‘love’ and ‘dove.’ Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, one nickname for her purblind son and heir, young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so true when King Cophetua loved the beggar maid.”

They pause to wink at Dex, who responds with his usual eye roll, an eye roll that fills Nursey’s blood with spice and pushes them forward, no longer caring if Chowder responds or not.

“He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not. The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.” And, raising their voice even more, looking over at Dex as they do, “I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, by her high forehead and scarlet lip, by her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, and,” putting as much emphasis as possible on the words, “The _demesnes_ that there _adjacent_ lie, that in thy likeness thou appear to us.”

Dex’s face has the perfect image of _Laying-it-on-thick-aren’t-you_ that Nursey has ever seen on it, but they just laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh, because it’s all so _funny,_ and at the same time, too serious, much too serious than they like it to be.

Dex shushes them. “An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.”

Nursey scoffs, still chuckling. “This cannot anger him. ‘Twould anger him to raise a spirit in his mistress’s circle of some strange nature, letting it there stand till she had laid it and conjured it down. That were some spite. My invocation is fair and honest. In his mistress’s name I conjure only but to raise him up.”

They swish their cape up and around the both of them, so they’re shrouded in the dark purple velvet, hidden from view, and the atmosphere changes completely.

Dex extends an arm, his knuckles brushing feather-light against Nursey’s cheek. They suppress a shudder, leaning forward slightly to better feel Dex’s fingers on his face.

“Come,” Dex murmurs, his eyes bright gold coins in the little moonlight seeping through. “He hath hid himself among these trees, to be consorted with the humorous night. Blind is his love,” He lowers his voice even more until it is almost a whisper and Nursey has to strain to hear it. “And best befits the dark.”

Nursey swallows, stepping forward and carefully laying their hands on Dex’s waist. “If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark,” they say. “Now will he sit under a medlar tree and wish his mistress were that kind of fruit as maids call medlars when they laugh alone.” Dex shakes his head, and Nursey can’t tell if he’s suppressing a smile or a frown. “O, that she were!” Nursey continues, breathing hard, unable to look away from Dex’s eyes. “Oh, and that she were an open arse, and thou a poperin pear.” (Another eye roll.) “Chowder,” they call loudly again, one last time, just to make sure. “Good night. I’ll to my truckle bed. This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.”

Chowder doesn’t respond. Nothing does.

“Peace, peace, Nursey, peace,” Dex mutters, echoing Chowder’s words from before. “Thou talk’ st of nothing.”

Nursey can’t hold back anymore. They kiss him, hard, and Dex replies with the same amount of force, his fingers pressing into the nape of Nursey’s neck, Nursey’s hands tightening at Dex’s hips.

They break apart and breathe for a moment, forehead-to-forehead. Nursey’s blood is thrumming, and it has nothing to do with the wine.

They reluctantly pull their cloak down. “Come,” they say, and their voice comes out raspy. “Shall we go?”

Dex nods, swallowing roughly. “Go, then, for ’tis in vain to seek him here that means not to be found.”

_Exeunt._

**viii. _Hertfordshire, England - 1797_**

Christopher Chow’s friend has been wall-flowering by the edge of the ball all night.

Derek probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he’s also kind of wall-flowering, so seeing Chris’s friend doing the same is almost comforting.

Or, it _would_ be, if Friend of Chow (as Derek has so unceremoniously dubbed him in his head) didn’t look like the most disagreeable bastard on the face of the planet.

Maybe Derek’s being unfair, but he’s usually right about these sorts of things. Friend of Chow isn’t just wall-flowering, he’s _sulking,_ scowling all over the place like he’d rather be anywhere on Earth other than here, at a dance with his best friend. His red hair is perfectly groomed, not a strand out of place. His clothes are sharp and expensive-looking. His manner is cold and aloof, and Derek is pretty sure he’s the most stuck-up man he’s ever seen.

It’s a little annoying, how attractive he is.

Caitlin spins over to Derek, dizzy and out of breath, her face flushed.

“Having a good time?” he asks her.

She nods, her eyes wide. “Chris just asked me to dance. _Again._ ”

“Then what are you doing here?” Nursey turns her around. “Go dance with him.”

Does Derek want to be here? No. But he’d do anything for Caitlin, and she had really wanted to come to this ball. Normally, Derek would have been perfectly happy to attend, but tonight is not one of those nights. Not for any particular reason - he would just much prefer to be at home, in bed with a book of poems, than here, sitting alone at a ball where nobody seems to want to dance with him and Caitlin is having the time of her life.

Not that he’s not happy for Caitlin. Not that he’s making himself look super presentable and inviting as it is.

Caitlin _is_ dancing a lot. And he _is_ happy for her. But he’s also tired. He and Connor had stayed up all last night reading, and Derek had had to get up early this morning and go into town to pick up some papers for his mother, so he’s running on precious few hours of sleep.

He tries to focus on the positives of being here, instead of wallowing in self-pity and wishing he were at home. He’s never seen Caitlin look this happy before - she doesn’t frown often, and always seems to have a constant smile on her face, but this is the most genuinely thrilled Derek has seen her in a long time. And Chris Chow looks equally enamored; Derek really hopes this whole thing works out for them, because they’d have the cutest, most smiley, fun-loving babies on record.

But Friend of Chow is sort of _ruining_ it by glaring everywhere. He’s upsetting the balance and making everything so much _gloomier_ than it needs to be. How can grinning, good-natured, agreeable Christopher Chow be friends with _him?_ He looks like he perpetually wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.

Friend of Chow catches Derek staring at him, and his frown deepens. Derek doesn’t look away - that would be showing weakness, and he doesn’t want _him_ to think he’s weak - he just frowns back, as if asking for a reason to challenge the other man, which he might be, judging by how bored he is right now.

But Friend of Chow just narrows his eyes and turns his head, because Chow himself has arrived, back from his second dance with Caitlin, and has struck up a conversation with him. Derek can hear them perfectly well, and doesn’t think twice about eavesdropping, because he just has to know what this guy’s _deal_ is.

“Enjoying yourself?” Friend of Chow asks. His voice sounds just as monotonous as Derek had imagined it would.

Chow smiles, clearly not picking up on his friend’s sarcasm. “Definitely,” he says, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This is the best ball I’ve ever been to.”

Friend arches an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen me dancing twice with Caitlin Farmer?”

“Oh, is _that_ her name?” Friend says, sounding slightly unimpressed. Derek feels a rush of rage and the compulsive need to defend Caitlin roll through him.

“Yes,” Chow sighs, looking starry-eyed. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, you know. She really is.”

Friend hums tonelessly. Derek wants nothing more than to punch him right in his stupid, even, white teeth.

“Don’t you want to dance, Will?” Chow inquires, looking at Friend - _Will_ \- expectantly (this must be that Poindexter fellow Connor’s father had mentioned at dinner the night before). “There are lots of people here who need a partner.”

Poindexter doesn’t even blink. “I don’t like dancing. You know that.”

“I _know,_ ” Chow says. “But you _never_ dance at parties! Come on, it would be fun, and it would be good for you.”

“I told you, I don’t _like -_ oh, never mind,” Poindexter grumbles, crossing his arms. “There’s no one here that I’d dance with, anyway, even _if_ I wanted to.”

Derek huffs to himself.

“Caitlin was telling me about her good friend,” Chow says, deaf to any resistance. “Who came here to the ball with her. You could dance with _him._ ”

“Where is he?” Poindexter asks, and Derek quickly looks elsewhere, hoping they can’t tell that he’s been listening in on their conversation. He can feel their eyes boring into the back of his head as they look over at him.

“Caitlin says he’s nice,” Chow says convincingly.

“What’s his name?”

“Derek Nurse.”

“Hm.” Poindexter pauses, probably to take a sip of wine.

“Well,” Chow presses. “What do you think?” And some strange part of Derek wonders, _Yeah, what do_ _you think?_ too.

“He is tolerable,” Poindexter decides, with an air of superiority. “But not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Derek’s jaw clenches. Who is _he_ to judge people like that? Acting like he’s better than everyone else, talking rudely about people like he’s not perfectly audible to everyone close by…Chow thought Derek would get along with _him?_ Fat chance.

Chow seems like he’s about to tell Poindexter off, but Caitlin appears at his elbow, and soon they’re whisking off for a _third_ dance, and before Derek is really sure of what he’s doing, he’s standing in front of a thoroughly disinterested-looking William Poindexter.

“Can I help you?” Poindexter asks dryly. Derek’s jaw clenches again.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Derek says, forcing his face into a smile. “That I overheard you before.” Poindexter’s eyebrows raise. “And I’d like to say something to you.”

“What’s that?” Poindexter asks, his eyebrows raising further.

“You aren’t handsome enough to tempt _me,_ ” Derek says haughtily (even though he’s lying). “And you aren’t even a little bit tolerable, either.”

Poindexter looks utterly nonplussed. “Look - “

“I just thought you might like to know that,” Derek finishes, and he walks back to his seat and doesn’t look at Poindexter for the whole rest of the evening.

This means he misses the lingering gazes Poindexter keeps giving him until the ball ends and Derek and Caitlin go home.

**ix. _Stonington, Maine - 2019_**

Dex is supposed to be having fun with his girlfriend tonight, and instead, he’s leaving her behind to be with a boy.

He didn’t exactly plan it, but he never planned on Nursey, either, so what is Dex _supposed_ to do?

“Come on!” Nursey yells, jumping onto his bike, his Anakin cloak fluttering behind him in the breeze. He looks back at Dex and grins, and Dex’s blood starts pumping faster than he thought possible.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Dex is dressed as Julius Caesar, because Fiona had wanted to do a couples costume. But he’s ditching his Cleopatra now, and Nursey’s ditching Gigi, his Padmé, because they had both decided, without even talking about it out loud, that the party they’d been at was totally _sucking,_ and they needed to get out of there ASAP, with or without the people they actually came with.

Fiona’s going to be pissed as hell, but right now, Dex doesn’t care. He pedals after Nursey, his legs working hard as they make their way up a hill, and when they ride down it, the wind almost blows Dex’s laurels off, and he barely notices because he’s laughing so loud.

He doesn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. No, really. He doesn’t.

But ever since Nursey moved to Stonington from Brooklyn (a real down-grade, if you ask Dex), Dex has been feeling a lot of that lately. Nursey just makes Dex feel _alive_ in a way that no one else ever has. Sure, he’s had crushes before, ill-fated, secret, shameful crushes, but none that's ever made him feel… _like this._

Yes, he has a girlfriend. No, he doesn’t know how to tell her he’s gay, or how she’ll take it. Part of the reason he made out with Fiona at that party in the first place was to try and prove himself wrong, show himself that there was another path for him to take, but there isn’t, and there won’t be now that Nursey’s here.

Nursey, who’s dating Gigi. Nursey, who, for all Dex knows, is straight.

Except he can’t be. He can’t be. Because there was that time, at Bitty’s dance, that Dex had been kissing Fiona, and he’d opened his eyes to see Nursey staring at him from the other side of the room, all while he kissed Gigi…and that hadn’t been very straight, had it?

“Come on,” Nursey says, pulling Dex out of his thoughts. “We’re here.”

They’re at the pool, except it’s late October (probably November at this point, if it’s as late at night as Dex thinks it is) so the gates are padlocked. It’s an indoor pool, one of the only ones in town, and Dex hasn’t been here in years. His dad used to teach him how to swim here, but…well, he hasn’t really talked to his dad in a while.

“You come _here?_ ” Dex asks, leaning his bike against the wall.

Nursey shrugs. “Yeah. My house is nearby. Sometimes I sneak in here, just to think.” He smiles. “Write poetry.”

Dex has read some of Nursey’s poetry, and it’s _good._ If a public pool is the place he needs to keep his creative juices flowing, then Dex is all for it.

Especially because his favorite poem was an Ode to Fall, which spent a long time talking about ginger hair and golden eyes.

“Well, come on,” Nursey says, hooking his sneakers (not very Anakin-like at all) into the gaps of the fence and hoisting himself up. “You’re coming, right?”

Dex hesitates, but only for a fraction of a second. “Yeah,” he says, and he follows Nursey up and over.

The inside of the building is somehow colder than the air outside, and the still surface of the water is dancing with the glare from the pale white lights set into the walls. Dex can see his breath fogging up in clouds in front of his face, and notices that Nursey’s is doing the same.

Nursey pulls off his coat.

  
“What are you doing?” Dex asks.

Nursey raises an eyebrow. “What, you’re not getting in?”

“Getting - dude, it’s, like, thirty degrees in here.”

Nursey’s lips twitch. “Exactly why we’re gonna jump in the pool. Come on, Poindexter, live a little.”

He walks to the edge of the pool, still fully-clothed.

Dex hesitates.

“What, are you scared of swimming or something?” Nursey asks, grinning.

Dex scoffs. “Why the hell would I be afraid of _water?_ ”

Nursey shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Drowning?”

“I’m not scared of _drowning,_ Nurse.”

Nursey looks at him. “Then what’s the problem?”

Dex isn’t sure.

So he kicks off his shoes, takes off his laurel crown, and pulls his bedsheet toga off, leaving him in his jacket and sweatpants. He joins Nursey at the edge of the pool, waits for one of them to make the first move. Nursey seems like he wants for Dex to jump in first.

“Hey,” Dex says quietly, an idea forming in his brain.

“What?” Nursey asks, and then Dex pushes him into the water, and jumps in right after him.

It’s bitterly cold and shockingly refreshing at the same time. Dex immediately kicks back up, the air on his face even cooler now from the water.

It takes Nursey a solid ten seconds to resurface, but he does, that stupid smile still on his face.

“You pushed me in,” he says.

“Yeah, I know,” Dex says back, grinning.

“What, did you think I died or something?” Nursey asks.

“Oh, yeah, _totally,_ ” Dex says sarcastically, even though a part of him really had been afraid for a second there. “I was worried I’d have to pull you out and do mouth-to-mouth.”

Which isn’t what Dex meant to say at all, and he can already feel his ears reddening, but Nursey just laughs and says, “You’re shit at holding your breath, dude.”

“What?”

“You were down in the water for, like, three seconds, man,” Nursey says. “Could your little lungs not take it?”

“Shut up,” Dex says, shoving at Nursey’s shoulder. “ _You’re_ shit at holding your breath.”

“Oh, ok, so _I_ must’ve been the one who came up for air immediately.”

“Shut up,” Dex says again, unable to keep the smile off his face. “I can totally hold my breath for longer than you can.”

Nursey raises his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

Dex nods, feeling his blood rush hot and heavy through his veins. “Yeah, it is.”

“All right, let’s go together, then,” Nursey says. “Whoever stays down longest, wins.”

“Deal,” Dex says. “Count of three.”

He starts the countdown, and they go under.

Dex doesn’t close his eyes. Normally, he would, but this is different, and Nursey’s keeping his eyes open, too. It’s not the same underwater, even more different from up above, even when no one could see them there. No one can see them now, either, but it feels more private. Secret. Personal.

Dex’s lungs are aching pretty badly, because he really _can’t_ hold his breath for very long, but he can’t focus on that because Nursey seems to be getting closer and closer to him, and then he pushes forward slowly and he kisses him.

Dex pulls back and swims to the surface, gasping for air. Nursey pops up a second later, grinning wolfishly.

“I won,” he proclaims.

“What?” Dex says, even though his lips are tingling and he’s still trying to process what just happened. “That’s bullshit, you cheated.”

Nursey rolls his eyes. “I didn’t cheat. I so totally didn’t cheat.”

“You did!” Dex says. “That’s not fair.”

“Ok, fine, then,” Nursey says, laughing. “Let’s go again if you’re so pressed about it.”

They duck back underwater, and this time, Dex meets Nursey halfway. He puts his hands on either side of Nursey’s face and pulls him closer, and Nursey rests his hands against Dex’s chest, and they somehow don’t drown, despite how long they’re under, despite the air bubbles floating up to the world above, until Dex’s lungs are like iron and he pulls Nursey up to the surface and keeps kissing him.

It’s like they’re the only two people on Earth, they _are_ the only two people on Earth, until the night watchman catches them and they have to haul ass out of there, soaking wet and laughing like crazy.

They end up on a park bench obscured by bushes, and Dex is just wondering if it was all a fluke and the pool made them do it when Nursey touches his cheek and pulls him toward him again.

Then he hesitates. “You’re shivering,” he says.

“Oh,” Dex says. “I hadn’t noticed.” He’d been too busy kissing Nursey and then running for his life to realize how freezing he was.

“Here.” Nursey leans down and drapes his still-dry Anakin cloak around Dex’s shoulders.

“You’re not cold?” Dex asks, grateful for the warmth.

Nursey shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Dex says, “Dude. Our girlfriends are going to _kill_ us.”

Nursey looks at him, and they both burst out laughing, even though Dex knows that it really isn’t that funny at all, and then Nursey kisses him again and Dex doesn’t know anything.

**x. _North France - 1917_**

They’re going over the top tomorrow, or so the General says. But he’s been saying that for months now, years even.

“Sir,” Nursey says. “Are we really - “

“Don’t ask questions,” the General barks. “Get back to your station, Lance Corporal.”

Nursey goes, but he isn’t happy about it. He’s got night watch duty tonight, and he’s not exactly thrilled at the prospect. The Germans sometimes shoot at them, a couple of stray bullets zinging across No Man’s Land and into their trench, but usually the enemy tries to sleep, which is what Nursey would love to do.

But he’s got _orders_ from the _General,_ so sleep is completely out of the question.

Nursey finishes his day job, eats a fairly disgusting dinner of stale crackers and some sort of unidentifiable slop, loses spectacularly in a couple of chess games to Lance Corporal Oluransi, and even though his eyes are drooping and he’s yawning three times a minute, he traipses off for night watch.

Dex is there, smoking a cigarette. The sight of him wakes Nursey up, helps him shake some of the exhaustion off and plaster on a tired grin.

“Poindexter,” he greets, sitting on the crate opposite him and nodding towards him.

Dex nods in return, hardly looking at him. “Nurse.”

They lapse into a tense silence. Nursey would like to call it comfortable, but it isn’t, because no part of anything is around here.

He wonders which of them is going to say something first. Which of them will speak this thing between them into existence, this secret thing that they can’t tell anyone about.

Because the last couple of nights, Dex has kissed Nursey more times than Nursey’s kissed anyone else. And that definitely isn’t allowed.

Dex finally clears his throat. “How…How was your day?”

Nursey grimaces and tells him all about the mud he got in his boots first thing this morning, but he’s not sure if Dex is really listening, or just glad that he’s talking at all, and Nursey feels exactly the same way.

Nursey asks Dex how his day went, but Dex sort of shrugs noncommittally and mumbles something basically incoherent. This is usually how Dex talks. Nursey isn’t sure _what_ it is about him that he finds _so -_

“Did you hear that we’re going over the top tomorrow?” Dex asks.

Nursey scoffs. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know.” Dex’s teeth are sinking into his lower lip. Nursey tries not to stare too obviously. “It _sounded_ pretty true.”

Nursey shrugs. “Yeah, but they’re always saying that. And we haven’t made the big push yet, have we?”

“I suppose not,” Dex says, but he sounds unsure.

And maybe Nursey gets that. He tries to stay optimistic about things, but the truth is that down in the trenches, there really isn’t much to stay optimistic _about._ You can pretend it’s all fine, convince yourself that you won’t be here for much longer, try to dull the pain of not being able to see your friends and family and loved ones back at home, but it always bites through in the end, no matter how strong your walls are. There is always the looming, shadowy, overpowering thought that you are never going to get out of here, or you’ll die trying.

_Quite_ cheery.

“Well,” Nursey says, in an attempt to change the subject. “Hear anything from home?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nothing. Colleen said she would write to me every month, but I guess she must have forgotten.”

His voice sounds bitter, and Nursey realizes that he should have asked him about something _else,_ the news of the war or even the bloody _weather,_ but not of _home._

“You don’t know that,” Nursey says, hoping his voice sounds more reassuring and encouraging to Dex’s ears than it does to his own. “Maybe the letter just got lost or something. You know the mail trucks always take forever.”

Dex shrugs. He looks tired. Nursey’s sure that he looks the same way.

“Did _you_ hear any news from home?” Dex asks, looking at Nursey skeptically.

Nursey thinks of the letter that arrived this morning from his parents.

“No,” he lies. He doesn’t think he sounds very convincing, but Dex seems to relent.

“All right,” he says, and closes his eyes and takes another drag on his cigarette.

“Got another one?” Nursey asks. “Or are you going to be selfish and greedy?”

Dex opens one eye and huffs, but his lips are very nearly close to turning up at the corners. He digs in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a case and a matchbox, both of which he hands over to Nursey.

“Cheers,” Nursey thanks as he fits the cigarette between his lips and strikes a match.

They sit in contemplative silence for a while, the only sound their gentle exhales of smoke and the occasional shout from another part of the trench, a bullet from far off. When Nursey first arrived at the trench two years ago, he’d jumped every time a gun had gone off, whether it was their’s or the other side’s. Now, it’s just something he’s become accustomed to. Background noise. Normal.

The sun finishes setting (not that it was a clear enough day to _see_ the sun), and the sky darkens. Dex lights the lantern, throws his jacket over top part of it to make the glow of the lamp a little less obvious. The air grows crisper and cooler, and the sound of the bullets eventually fades away to an eerie quiet.

Nursey’s been waiting for what feels like hours, and he can’t wait any longer.

“Will,” he says softly, and Dex looks up and locks eyes with him. He shifts his hand carefully across the surface of the table, rests it on top of Dex’s.

Nursey asks. Dex answers.

He leans forward, and Nursey meets him in the middle. They have to be quiet. Careful. This is their secret, and even if no one else is down this end of the trench, there is always the possibility that they could get caught.

Nursey kisses Dex until his chapped lips are bruised even more, and Dex kisses Nursey back with such fervor that Nursey thinks he might push him down onto the ground, but somehow they end up standing instead, Dex pushing Nursey up against the wall, and it isn’t exactly strong, but it’s desperate, and it’s necessary.

Something knocks a bottle to the ground and it shatters, causing them to spring apart so quickly, it was like it never even happened at all.

“Oh,” Dex whispers, breathing hard. “It was just a rat.”

Nursey nods, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. They’re _lucky_ that it had been just a rat. If it had been a soldier, they might not have jumped away from each other in time.

Nursey looks over at Dex. “We should stop, right?”

  
He doesn’t want to, and neither does Dex, he knows, but Dex nods and says, “Probably a good idea.”

He sinks down against the wall and pulls a dirty blanket from underneath the crate, draping it over himself. Nursey hates that he can only have Dex for a few stolen moments before they have to go back to pretending that nothing is real between them. He makes to sit back down on his crate again, maybe pull out his pocket journal and jot some mediocre poetry down by the dwindling flicker of the dim lantern, but Dex pats the spot next to him.

“Come on,” he says.

Nursey raises his eyebrows. “What if someone sees?”

Dex shrugs. “They’ll see us huddling for warmth, won’t they? It’s chilly out.”

Nursey nods, fighting to keep the smile off his face. “Ok.”

He joins Dex on the ground, pulling the blanket tighter around the both of them in an effort to keep some heat in. He intertwines their fingers underneath, leans his head on Dex’s shoulder.

“I’m tired,” he yawns.

“You can sleep,” Dex says. “I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

“You sure? You look pretty exhausted, too.”

Dex shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

And that’s one of the things Nursey loves most about him: his selflessness.

He wonders if things will ever be ok for people like them. If someday, they won’t have to hide in shadows and speak only in secrets.

“All right,” he says, smiling openly this time, and he shuts his eyes. “Don’t die.”

He feels Dex’s lips press against his temple. “I won’t if you won’t.”

Nursey isn’t sure if Dex is telling the truth, but then he isn’t sure if he is himself, either.

He wonders if anyone will remember them when they go.

**xi. _Florence, Italy - 1907_**

Florence, Will thinks, must be the most beautiful city on Earth. Scores of statues. Clusters of trees. Wide-open spaces. Museums, and churches, and basilicas, and gardens, and views, and views, and views.

Will is glad that his parents let him and Colleen come here for the summer, because another day in that stuffy house back in Surrey and he would have snapped. There’s just nothing to _do_ \- Dylan would annoy him, Aidan would be mooning over some new girl every week, and his parents would still be trying to set Will up with every eligible woman they came across.

Not that he’s entirely escaped that, because they’ve tasked Colleen with finding Will a nice Italian girl to marry, but as long as he forgets about _that_ part, then he’s fine. Because Florence - _Firenze_ \- is spectacular, and nothing could distract him from that.

The inn that they’re staying at, in the heart of the city, is charming in its own quaint little way. Not so much the building itself, but the guests, who are all very nice and hospitable. Jack Zimmermann, the quiet and lone photographer, Birkholtz and Oluransi, business partners in Italy for a work trip, Alexei Mashkov, the foreign man here on vacation. They’re all different, they’ve all got stories to tell, and Will knows that Colleen especially loves to have them around, to gossip with and swap witty anecdotes with.

They’re all welcoming, they’re all open, even Jack, and then…then there’s Derek Nurse.

Their first day in the city, Colleen had been heartbroken that their hotel room hadn’t had a good view out of the window, and Will, though less vocal about it, was similarly disappointed. What was the point of traveling to Florence if you couldn’t even see the Duomo? Colleen had complained and complained and complained at dinner, and finally, the Nurses, two women and their son, had offered to switch rooms with them.

“Oh, no,” Colleen said, looking horrified and covering her mouth. “I couldn’t _possibly_ ask you to do that!”

“It’s all right, we’ve been here before,” Lola Nurse said smilingly. “It’s your first time in Florence. A view is essential. Right, Derek?”

Will had looked across the table at Derek, who had been arranging his peas into a question mark formation on his plate for the past ten minutes. Derek looked up, said, “Right, most definitely,” and once his mother had gone back to her reassuring of Colleen, locked eyes with Will and winked.

Will hadn’t been sure if that day had been particularly warm, but it had certainly felt like it at that moment.

When they’d switched rooms, Derek had been in there, collecting his things from his bed, and he’d fixed Will with an inscrutable stare that Will returned, for lack of anything better to do. And then Derek had nodded, and left.

A strange man. An _insufferable_ man. Will can’t stand him.

Naturally, he wants to know as much as there is to know about him as possible.

Derek Nurse has tailed Will throughout the entire city for the past week, always seeming to be there when Will looks over his shoulder, never too far when Colleen drags him into another church. Whenever Will shoots him a questioning glance, Derek just smiles mysteriously at him and lifts his hand in a two-finger salute.

It’s annoying. It’s perplexing. It’s _addicting._ Will hates it, and he wants to see more.

Colleen’s in yet another basilica, but this time Will’s managed to weasel his way out of it. Yesterday, she had tried to convince Will that one of the nuns in the abbey would be perfect for him, and Will had had to seriously ask his sister if she understood how nuns worked.

He’s loitering on the steps of the Basilica of Santa Croce, hoping he doesn’t look too much of a fool and wondering when Colleen will come back outside, when suddenly _he’s_ there.

“Hello,” Derek says in an amused voice.

“Hi,” Will responds, inwardly cringing at the stiffness in his tone.

“Your sister’s inside?” Derek indicates the basilica with a nod of his head.

“Yes,” Will answers. “Where are your mothers?”

Derek shrugs. “Around. Walk with me?”

_Of course not,_ Will thinks, and he says, “Yes, all right.”

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to ask Derek, who is so mysterious that Will doesn’t even know where to begin, but he finally decides on, “So you write?”

Which is sort of a stupid question, but a question nonetheless.

Derek’s lip twitch, his hands clutching the exact leather-bound journal Will has seen him carrying around these past few days. “Yes. I write.”

Will clears his throat. “Er - _what_ do you write? What sort of things…?”

“Poetry,” Derek replies. “Sometimes accounts of my travels, but mostly poetry.”

“Oh.” They turn a corner onto another piazza, a larger one with even more statues than the last, and begin to cross it. “About nature?”

Derek looks at him carefully, in a way Will isn’t entirely sure how to describe. “Sometimes,” he says. “Sometimes not. Sometimes I write about people.”

  
Will feels his cheeks start to heat up slightly. “Which people?”

Derek winks, grinning slyly, and Will burns.

They pause at an edge of the piazza, at a set of magnificent marble steps leading up into another basilica. Derek opens his book and starts to write something down, his eyes roaming the square carefully. Will doesn’t say anything, just watches him work.

“Hang on,” Derek says. “What’s going on over there?”

“I don’t know,” Will says. There’s a group of people a few yards away from the foot of the stairs, clearly brawling over something.

“Should we get a closer look?” Derek asks, and sets off without waiting to see if Will follows him or not.

He does.

Will isn’t sure what the men are fighting about, since they’re all shouting at each other in rapid-fire Italian, but tempers seem to be running high. Will is just about to open his mouth and ask Derek if there’s any chance he speaks the language, when there’s a yelp of pain from within the mob, and the crowd quickly disperses, leaving a man’s body facedown in the middle of the square, his blood running through the cracks in the cobblestones like rainwater.

Derek swears. “Do you think he’s - ?”

Will steps forward and checks the man’s pulse. Nothing.

“He’s dead,” he says grimly, standing back up.

“Well,” Derek says shakily. “Come on, then. Someone else will get him.”

Derek is afraid, Will realizes. He’s not exactly keen, either, but Derek looks paler, like he might faint, so Will leads him away from the scene until they’re standing overlooking the water, the piazza left behind them.

“Are you all right?” Will asks.

Derek’s hands are holding the stone guardrail so tightly, Will fears he might accidentally tear it out of the ground. “I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

Will doesn’t push further. He doesn’t know him well enough for that. They just witnessed a murder. He’s not feeling very happy about it, himself.

Derek is quiet for a while, taking in deep breaths, before he looks at Will and tells him, “You’ve got blood on your shoes.”

Will stares blankly downward. His brown leather shoes are stained with patches of deep red.

“Ah,” he says lightly. “Well, good thing I don’t only wear the one pair.”

He looks at Derek, and Derek looks back, and they both start laughing, the tension rushing out of the air as quick as lightning.

They talk for a while of Florence, of England, of their families. Will can see that Derek is glad for a topic of discussion, and seems to be relaxing more and more by the minute. Will is glad to help, even if only a little bit.

“Your sister’s trying to find you a wife,” Derek says, and Will’s mood instantly sours. “How’s that going for you?”

Will grumbles. “Well - “

Derek barks out a laugh. “I’m only joking,” he says. “You should see your face.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Haha. It’s going _terribly,_ Colleen doesn’t know me at all. It’s embarrassing, really, she’s supposed to be my favorite sibling.”

“Is she?” Derek asks, an eyebrow raised.

Will shrugs. “Probably. I know you’re not meant to pick favorites, but it’s probably her.” He looks over at Derek. “Do you have any siblings?”

Derek shakes his head. “Only child. I’m fine with that.”

“Sometimes I wish _I_ were an only child,” Will says, and Derek laughs. His laugh is one of the warmest sounds Will has ever heard.

The weather grows steadily milder in the week to come, and Colleen proposes that they go for a picnic in the fields on the outskirts of the city.

“Just the two of us?” Will asks.

“Oh, no,” Colleen says, waving her hand. “I invited the Nurses, and I assume the others might tag along, too.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is that all right?”

“All right,” Will says, fighting hard not to smile.

The next morning, they all pile into a cart and set off for the fields, Colleen carrying a large picnic basket on her lap. Derek and his mothers sit on the other side of the carriage, across from Will, and Derek grins when his knees knock against Will’s own every time they hit a bump in the road.

Derek sets off to a field brimming with poppies, presumably to take inspiration for his poetry. Will makes to go along with him, but Colleen latches onto him and drags him off to eat lunch with her and the Nurses.

“So, your novel,” Colleen says, buttering herself a crumpet. “What exactly is it about?”

“Well, I’m planning for it to be a sort of romance,” Tallulah answers, fanning herself with her hat. “Part of the reason we came to Florence this summer was so I could try and inspire my writing. My book takes place in Florence.”

Colleen nods. “What are the characters like?”

Tallulah launches into a long and detailed description of her novel, which then transforms into a gossip circle between her, Colleen, and Lola. Will distracts himself by stuffing his mouth with bread and cheese and dried fruits but eventually gets so bored that he can’t bear to be there anymore.

“I’m going to go find Jack,” Will says, standing and cracking his back. “I think he’s taking photos by the forest. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh,” Colleen says, looking surprised. “I suppose that’s fine.”

“We don’t mind,” Lola says, smiling at him. “Come back and tell us where Derek’s run off to, why don’t you?”

“Sure,” Will says, not telling her that that’s where he was planning to go, anyway. Somehow, he finds it easier to say that he’s looking for Jack than to tell them the truth, especially when he’s speaking to his sister and Derek’s parents.

He walks slowly. Somehow, he’s almost afraid of going to Derek, though he can’t for the life of him fathom why.

He finds him in the poppy field, standing amongst the flowers, his jacket slung over his shoulder, writing almost feverishly in his book. Will suddenly decides that he can’t open his mouth, can’t call out to him, can’t say anything at all. Derek looks so _real_ here, his outline soft at the edges from the warm yellow glow of the sun, his tongue between his teeth and his brows furrowed in concentration, his posture laid-back, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, the top two buttons popped…

  
Will still doesn’t say anything, but he hesitantly makes his way down the grassy slope, unsure if he’s in control of his legs, or if they’re moving completely of their own volition. He hesitates a few yards away from Derek, waiting for something, _anything,_ a reason, a meaning, anything at all.

Derek looks up suddenly, and notices Will watching him. He doesn’t smile. His eyes widen and his lips part as if seeing Will for the first time…and Will feels like _he’s_ seeing _Derek_ for the first time, too.

Derek drops his journal abruptly, lets his jacket slide off his shoulder and fall to the ground. He starts walking toward Will, his motions jerky, gaining speed until he’s practically jogging, and Will can only close his eyes before Derek is cupping his face and kissing him.

Will rests his hands on Derek’s shoulders and melts into him completely. His lips are soft, his kiss is heated, and Will loses himself entirely.

“ _Will!_ ”

They both jolt backward, and Will turns around quickly to see his sister, clutching her parasol tightly and staring down at him as if he’s gone insane. Next to him, Derek shifts uncomfortably.

“Will!” Colleen says again. “Come up here!”

Will reluctantly obeys.

  
“What are you _doing?_ ” she hisses. “Come on, we’re going back to the hotel.” She shoots Derek a scathing look over her shoulder.

Will goes with her, his mind buzzing, his lips still tingling. When he looks back, Derek is staring at him, and when Will nods, Derek raises two of his fingers in a slow salute.

**xii. _Bangor, Maine - 2019_**

Nursey is pretty sure that the dude who keeps looking over at him is a vampire.

It’s a fairly normal Tuesday night for Nursey, as far as Tuesdays go. He’s at the grocery store, looking for those off-brand Cheez-Its that he’s shamefully kind of addicted to. Ke$ha is playing over the crackly Publix radio, and this guy in the produce section has been staring at him for the past three minutes.

That’s something they always warn you about, in school, at work, on bus stop signs and train station posters, in fucking Buzzfeed articles: _Looking now, feasting later._ If someone keeps staring at you, for no apparent reason, then they’re probably a vampire, and they’re probably planning the best ways to drink your blood.

Plus, this dude _looks_ like a vampire, too. His skin is like, _really_ pale, marked only with a smattering of faint orange freckles, and he’s wearing sunglasses inside, which is always a sign, because vampire’s eyes glow red and yellow, and that’s not normal. For humans at least.

It’s technically illegal to call the cops on a vampire (unless they’re attacking someone for food), but people still do it anyway. Vampires aren’t hunted (they’re not _supposed_ to be, at least), but they _are_ hated. Nursey _knows_ this guy isn’t human, because he’s not the only one who’s noticed the staring and the paleness and the hidden eyes. The stray few other shoppers are giving Vampire Guy a wide berth, and a little old lady with a crocheted scarf mutters to Nursey as she passes, “You’d better be careful, young man.”

Careful. How the fuck is he supposed to do that? Vampire Guy won’t attack him in here, not unless he’s completely batshit (pardon the pun), but he could get him on the way out. It’s dark, there aren’t that many people around, and Nursey stupidly parked around the corner, where the streetlamp is broken. He also forgot his garlic charm (one of the ones his Mama always makes him take whenever he visits, and which he always reluctantly accepts) at home, and he’s fresh out of crucifixes, thank-you-very-fucking-much, so he’s got no means of defending himself.

In other words? He’s screwed.

Nursey makes it to the checkout line and pays for his groceries. Vampire Guy gets in line right behind him, and Nursey can feel himself starting to sweat. The cashier gapes, open-mouthed at the pair of them, as Nursey starts to speed-walk towards the doors. _Call the police,_ he thinks desperately. _Come on._ Do _something._ But the kid does nothing, ‘cause maybe he’s too scared to.

Vampire Guy doesn’t follow him immediately, but Nursey keeps his key between his knuckles as he moves as fast as he possibly can without full-on running to his car. He hers the doors slide open behind him, a pair of footsteps echoing after his own, and _why_ did he park so far away from the entrance, and _why_ is there no one in the goddamn parking lot? It’s only _Tuesday!_

Somehow, _incredibly,_ Nursey makes it to his car. He fumbles with his keys as he quickly tries to unlock the door (his car remote is broken, because of course it is), but before he can, he feels a presence behind him.

“Fuck,” Nursey mutters, wheeling around and dropping his bags so he can shield his face, his neck. “Fuck, please don’t kill me, man, please - “

“I don’t want to kill you,” a gravelly voice rasps.

Huh. For a vampire, there’s something strangely warm about his tone.

Nursey slowly lowers his hands. “Then what _do_ you want?” He gulps. “ _Fuck,_ you’re not going to _turn_ me, are you? Please don’t do that, either, I really don’t - “

“I’m not going to turn you, either,” Vampire Guy says, sounding exasperated. “I just…I need you to help me.”

Nursey squints his eyes. “Help you?”

“Yeah,” Vampire Guy says, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. “Look, I - I need you to take me to the bank,” he says desperately.

Nursey blinks once, twice.

“Take me to the bank. Please. I gotta eat.”

Nursey swallows.

Vampires are forbidden to feed on humans. They aren’t really supposed to eat animals, either, but a squirrel killed by a car and a squirrel killed by teeth looks about the same, with a little bit of effort on the vampire’s part, and no one really cares enough to complain.

Then there are the blood banks. Places where people can donate blood and vampires can drink it. Nursey goes sometimes, when he’s running low on money. As the bag gets fuller, so does his bank account. But those places are usually the haunts of severely desperate people, the poor, the homeless, the helpless who have nowhere else to turn.

And of course, the vampires themselves.

“So you _do_ want my blood,” Nursey says slowly.

“I’ll pay you,” Vampire Guy says quickly. “You can trust me. I know you don’t think so, but I promise. You can.”

Nursey looks at him carefully. Vampires are impossible to read, especially when their eyes are covered, but somehow, deep down inside, even though he knows he should be warier, and that he could very well be walking right into a death trap, Nursey knows that this guy is telling the truth.

“Ok.” He swallows. “Ok, get in.”

Vampire Guy doesn’t smile, but he looks relieved. “ _Thank you._ ”

The car ride is long and uncomfortable. Nursey tries to tune into a random Top 40s station to diffuse some of the tension, but his radio crackles and hisses so badly that he eventually just gives up. It’s a chilly, wet night, and there aren’t that many people out right now, all preferring to stay at home with a mug of tea and a fire in the hearth. To be perfectly honest, that’s where Nursey wishes _he_ could be right now. Despite the lack of traffic, the nearest blood bank to Nursey’s neighborhood is a good fifteen minutes away, which means fifteen minutes stuck in his car with a guy who could still totally murder him.

Speaking of, Vampire Guy is _still staring_ at him. Or, at least, Nursey _thinks_ so. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses off, but his face is turned towards Nursey very deliberately.

Nursey clears his throat. “Um. You don’t have to wear those.” He indicates the glasses with his free hand. “If you don’t want to.”

Vampire Guy raises an eyebrow, and takes off the sunglasses, stuffing them into a pocket of his sweatpants. Nursey looks, unable to help himself. Vampire Guy is one of those dudes with yellow eyes, irises glowing like lamps in the darkness of Nursey’s car. They actually look really cool, and Nursey sort of gets lost in them for a second…The dude coughs, and Nursey looks away again, eyes on the road.

“I’m Derek,” Nursey says, not sure why he does and regretting the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. “Most people just call me Nursey, though.”

He can see Vampire Guy looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Now, there’s no mistaking it - Nursey is being watched. Vampire Guy opens his mouth, probably to laugh at Nursey’s name, or ask him why he’s introducing himself when all he needs is something to eat, or to shut up and drive, but instead, he says,

“What is that, a hockey nickname?”

Nursey raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Uh, yeah, actually. I played in college.”

Vampire Guy hums. “I’m Will,” he says. “Dex. I also played in college.”

“Oh,” Nursey says. “What a coincidence.” Internally, though, he’s wondering when exactly Dex _went_ to college. He looks to be about the same age as Nursey, but that’s the tricky part: once you’re bitten, you stay that age forever. For all Nursey knows, Dex could have been in college anywhere from last year (Nursey’s senior year at Samwell) to 1904.

“I was bitten last year,” Dex supplies, and Nursey jolts (he’s never really been sure if the myth that vampires can read minds or not is true, but maybe Dex is just a good guesser).

“Oh,” Nursey says again. “I’m sorry?”

Dex shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Nothing you could’ve done.”

Nursey, not wanting to be thrown into another awkward silence after an interaction like that, casts around for a subject change. “What position did you play?”

The tension seems to leak out of Dex’s posture, so Nursey must have asked the right question. “I played defenseman,” he says. “I was a d-man.”

Nursey’s heart skips a beat. “Hey - me too!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, man,” Nursey says. “D-man on the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team.”

“Samwell?” Dex asks. “I think we might have played you guys once or twice.”

Nursey frowns. “Really? Where’d you go to school?”

“UMaine,” Dex supplies.

“Oh, ok,” Nursey says. “I don’t remember seeing you.”

Dex snorts and Nursey feels his face grow hot. Of course he wouldn’t remember seeing Dex, who remembers a random person from a random hockey game?

An awkward cloud descends. Nursey ignores it until they pull into the parking lot of the Red Cross, the outside populated by a few loiterers, a few smokers, a few drifters.

Nursey clears his throat. “Do - I mean, I guess we just…go?”

Dex raises his eyebrows. His golden eyes glimmer in the dark like the beams of a truck. “Have you never given blood before?”

“No, no, I _have,_ ” Nursey says quickly. “Just never…”

_Never directly to a vampire._ Nursey doesn’t say it, but he hears it anyway, and he knows Dex does, too.

Dex nods. “Ok.”

Nursey follows him out of the car and into the blood bank, his mind buzzing like he’s had too much caffeine.

Inside the Red Cross is like a whole other world. It’s simultaneously clean and dirty: the floors are scrubbed to sparkling, and the walls are a perfect white, but the people, the people are the ones undoing all that. They line the walls, dressed in everything from grimy trench coats to shiny leather jackets to tattered flannels, and they look so out of place here, and yet so right where they belong. Tired-looking. Hungry. Poor.

And shuffling in and out of the rooms in the back are paler people, with glowing red and yellow eyes, looking ravenous, carrying plastic bags of blood, some of it staining their lips, their chins, droplets trickling down onto their clothes.

Nursey’s done this a dozen times, and the place gets bleaker and more terrifying upon each new visit.

He steps up to the front desk. “Derek Nurse, for donating.”

The nurse at the front, an exhausted and bored-looking woman who likes like she’s in severe need of a cup of coffee looks him up and down disinterestedly. “Do you have a recipient with you?”

Nursey gestures behind him, where Dex is shifting his weight from foot to foot. His sunglasses are back on, which doesn’t make sense, because he’s surrounded by people like him, now. Why would he feel like he needs to hide?

The nurse slides over some paperwork for Nursey to sign. He does, putting down his name, address, insurance, etc., before passing the sheet to Dex so he can fill out his half of the form. When he does, their fingers brush for the briefest of seconds, and Nursey feels his chest twitch.

“Ok,” the nurse says once everything’s written down. “You’ll go to the back,” she says, nodding at Nursey. “And you - “ Dex. “Stay here.”

He’s done this a dozen times, but Nursey doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the smell of the room, the cold of the alcohol wipe on his forearm, the press of the needle into his vein. Those things on their own aren’t so terrible (Nursey’s never really been afraid of needles), but that combined with watching a bag fill up with a pint’s worth of his own blood, the stuff flowing through the tube connected to his arm, witnessing fluids actually being _drained_ out of him? Yeah, it makes him dizzy just thinking about it.

It’s over soon enough, though, and the doctor on duty supplies him with an Ariel band-aid and the bag, disgustingly warm and sickeningly heavy.

Nursey tries not to pay attention to that and instead focuses on finding Dex so they can get out of here, but when he gets back to the waiting area, Dex and his bright red hair and yellow eyes are nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, did you see the guy I came in with?” he asks the nurse, and she points a lazy finger in the direction of the door.

Dex is propped up against the side of Nursey’s car. He’s not wearing the sunglasses anymore, and Nursey is relieved, for some reason, to see this.

“Here,” Nursey says, holding out the bag. Dex hungrily takes it, and Nursey is glad to be rid of its weight. “So do you just - do you just, like, _shotgun_ it?”

Dex rolls his eyes. “No.” He pulls a collapsible metal straw out of his pocket and pokes it through the puncture hole at the top of the bag. “Like this.”

Nursey looks on, completely nonplussed. “Like a CapriSun?” Dex shrugs. “Well, at least you’re being eco-friendly.”

He leans against the car next to Dex and watches him drink. That’s _his_ blood Dex is sucking up through that straw. All of that came from _his_ body, and Dex is slurping it down like it’s apple juice.

“What does it taste like?” Nursey asks, a little too loudly. “Is it like, like when you get a hangnail and put it in your mouth to stop the bleeding? Like, metallic?”

Dex inclines his head. “Yes,” he says. “And no. It tastes like that, but it also tastes…” He stares down at the bag, something like disgust lurking in his features. “Well, I’m not really sure how to describe it. When you’re like me, you…you develop an acquired taste.”

“You don’t like it.”

Dex shakes his head. “I _wish_ I didn’t like it.”

_He wishes he didn’t_ have _to like it,_ Nursey thinks.

The question that’s been teetering back and forth on the tip of his tongue all night finally slips out. “Why me?”

Dex frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Nursey says. “Out of everyone else at that Publix you could have asked to take you here, why’d you go for me?”

Dex’s frown deepens like the question confuses him. “I…I don’t know. You just…” He fixes Nursey with an expression beyond description. “You looked safe,” he decides simply, and Nursey lets that one ring on into the silence that follows, chest burning.

He looked _safe?_ He’s lucky he _did_ forget his garlic, then. He doesn’t know what would have happened if he’d pulled that out on Dex in the parking lot.

He finds that he doesn’t want to think about it. He feels like he met Dex for good reason, if that makes any sense, which it probably doesn’t.

“Well, I promise you, I’m safe,” Nursey says, making a mental note to stop taking cloves of garlic from his parents.

Dex sucks the last drops of blood out of the bag, making the flexible plastic implode in on itself, and stuffs the empty thing into the front pocket of his hoodie, the straw back to wherever it was before.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, golden eyes flashing, shining, glittering, like jewels, like coins, like suns. His lips are a deep and sultry crimson, stained, fading, like watercolors, like a Monet painting, and it’s disgusting, and it’s blood, and it’s _Nursey’s_ blood, and Dex is a _vampire,_ but he’s pretty sure he falls in love right then and there.

“Yeah,” he says distantly. “No problem.”

Dex stretches. “Well. Good night, Nursey.”

“Wait,” Nursey says. “Don’t you need a ride home?” _Please let me give you a ride home. I want to._

Dex shakes his head. “No. I can fly.”

“What, like…turn into a bat?” Nursey asks stupidly.

Dex snorts. “Yeah, Nursey, like that.”

“You couldn’t have done that before?” Nursey asks. “Saved me the trouble of driving you over here?”

He doesn’t mean it. He wanted - he _needed_ this tonight.

Dex raises an eyebrow. “I can only really do it when I’m strong enough, and I wasn’t before. I guess I was too much of a _bother_ to you, though, yeah?”

“No,” Nursey says quickly. “No, dude, Dex, you weren’t. At all.”

But then he realizes Dex is snickering. “Dude. I’m _kidding._ ”

“Oh. Ok.”

Dex turns around, seemingly to leave. “Well, thanks again - “

“Hey, do you wanna come to my place and watch hockey sometime?” Nursey asks, all in a rush.

Dex turns back to face him and blinks. “Hockey?”

“Yeah,” Nursey says. “Hockey.”

Dex is quiet for a moment, and then his face splits into a grin, the first real grin Nursey has seen him give, all red lips and pointed fangs bared wide, and it’s _insanely_ hot.

“Sure. Hockey,” Dex says.

“Chill,” Nursey says, throat dry. “Chill.”

Dex puts his number into Nursey’s phone, hands it back to him, and leaves into the night, mouth still scarlet with Nursey’s blood.

And Nursey watches him go until he can’t see him anymore, and then he goes home, and falls asleep dreaming of shining gold suns and a red, red sea.

**xiii. _Paris, France - 1832_**

Nursey wakes up, and the world’s on fire.

They don’t even remember passing out. One minute, they’d been drinking straight from the neck of their bottle of wine, laughing at something Shitty had said and trying to beat down their anxiousness about the day to come, and the next they’re lifting their head off of the table, invisible marbles bouncing painfully around their head, and the café is a mess, with chair legs and papers and bullets strewn everywhere.

Nursey gets staggeringly to their feet, presses their hands against their eyelids, and wonders what the hell happened. Did they lose? Is that it? That quickly? Are all of Nursey’s friends gone?

No, but Dex kept saying the people would come to help them, and Nursey never _really_ believed him, but they also secretly had a little hope that the words Dex said and the others repeated were true.

Actually, they always have hope when it comes to Dex’s words. No matter what he’s saying.

But where is Dex now? There’s no one left in the café. Nothing’s here but the signs of a struggle. And it’s eerily quiet outside, too quiet. No sounds of fighting, no cheering, nothing.

A single gunshot rents the air, and Nursey jumps. They listen closer, straining their ears for anything else. From outside, shouting, but it’s impossible to tell who’s speaking, and they can’t make out the words.

Nursey heads for the window, wincing at the late afternoon sun that shines directly into their eyes, making their head throb. Outside, the barricade is even messier. Shrapnel lies, haphazard, all over the place, the cobbled street is running thick with blood, and everything is solid. Stationary. Unmoving.

With a jolt up their spine and a sickening feeling in their stomach, Nursey realizes that there are bodies everywhere, but if they’re of the enemy or their friends, they aren’t sure.

Before their feet can catch up with their brain, Nursey’s running, out of the café and around to the barricade, without even thinking of checking for anyone that might see them. They can’t even imagine caring about that now, not when the world is ending.

And the world must be ending, there’s really no other explanation for it, because all of Nursey’s friends are dead, lying in the gutter and propped up against the barricade, nothing left.

They’re all gone. All of them. And Nursey’s still a little drunk, and they’re hungover, and their friends are all _dead,_ and no one, no one…

Dex. Dex isn’t here. There’s no shock of red hair among the bodies, no lifeless golden eyes staring up at the sky. Nursey feels their heart leap into their throat.

But if he’s not here, then where _is_ he? Outside the barricade? Bleeding out in an alleyway? Certainly not _hiding_ \- he was always too brave, too noble, too selfishly _selfless_ for that.

Nursey’s in love with him. Nursey’s never been in love with someone as much as they are with Dex, and Dex is nowhere.

They have to find him.

They scramble to their feet, unaware that they were even on the ground, wiping the tears from their eyes. The sun seems even brighter now, and the fast and jerky movements Nursey’s making are really turning their situation into an even more uncomfortable one, but they don’t care at all, because their life is irrefutably over.

They clamber up the wall of the barricade and peer over the edge. There’s an entire troop of National Guard soldiers, all standing tall with their guns raised, waiting for the order to shoot, and - _and they’re pointing at Dex._ Nursey’s heart is going a mile a minute. Do they go down there? Stand next to him?

But Dex has always hated Nursey. He’s made that abundantly clear, in his sneers, in his scowls, in his taunts of _You believe in nothing._

_I believe in you,_ Nursey had replied honestly, and had really hoped that they hadn’t imagined the flush creeping up Dex’s neck at their words.

Jack had once said that the pair of them had reminded him of Achilles and Patroclus, of Orestes and Pylades, of Alexander and Hephaestion, and Nursey hadn’t known exactly what he’d meant by that.

Something.

Will Dex be disappointed when it’s Nursey who comes to his aid, instead of Jack, instead of Shitty, instead of literally anyone else, anyone who really and truly believed in the cause and devoted themselves to it? Will he wish Nursey were somebody else?

They sort of _did_ devote themself to the cause too, in their own way. They’d come to all of the meetings, hadn’t they? They’d handed out pamphlets, spread word, listened to Dex speak, hadn’t they? Even if they _had_ scorned Dex’s words, and spent most of the time in the back of the café with a bottle of absinthe, they’d…they’d _been_ there. They’d fought as hard as anyone else, they’d…they’d _loved._

“No one’s coming to help you,” the head of the Guard hisses. “All your little friends are dead…”

But that isn’t true, and Nursey doesn’t want Dex to go down believing it. So without caring how he’ll react, Nursey throws themself over the side of the barricade, their face set like stone.

“Long live the Republic!” they shout, tripping clumsily down the rickety slope. “I belong to it!”

The others all turn around. Dex’s eyes widen.

“Nursey…I thought you were dead.”

Nursey offers him a shaky and false smile, stumbling gracelessly to stand beside him. “No, just drunk.”

Dex looks slightly amused, despite it all. “Naturally.”

“Funny,” the captain remarks. “We thought we’d stamped you all out.”

Nursey turns towards him. “Finish both of us at one blow,” they say, and they find that they aren’t even all that afraid.

Dex is still staring at them like he’s never laid eyes on them before. Nursey doesn’t know what his expression means, but they’d gladly give up drink and just live on that look forever, never needing anything else.

“Do you permit it?” Nursey asks softly.

Dex’s lips part. He doesn’t say anything. He just grasps Nursey’s hand, intertwining their fingers, pressing their palms together, heart against heart. Nursey clings to it like a lifeline, knowing that their lives are about to end.

And accepting it.

_Someday, I’ll die for you,_ they’d told Dex before. _And then you will see._

Dex hadn’t said anything to that at the time, but Nursey figures that this is his answer now.

And dying is actually quite painless, after all.

**xiv. _Laurel Canyon, California - 1968_**

When Dex moved to California, he’d planned to go only for university, to get his degree and please his parents. He hadn’t exactly planned on dropping out after a year and a half, ditching his classes, and getting a place in the Canyon, but how could he have possibly expected for that to happen?

At least he has a job and a house, even if his mother cries every time she calls, and his father won’t even talk to him. At least he has a job and a house, and regular, slightly condescending messages on his answering machine from his siblings. At least he has a job and a house, and a music scene to distract himself with.

“There’s supposed to be some big party tonight,” Chowder tells him, leaning over the counter and drinking from his mug of coffee. His purple-tinted glasses (which he always opts to wear _inside_ for no good reason) flash in the sun shining through the curtains of the window nook, where Dex is propped up against the ratty, threadbare cushions and flipping through his notepad.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “Lincoln’s making me go to get a ‘feel for the upfront experience of the lives of Laurel Canyon’s biggest stars.’” He rolls his eyes. “Which is just code for, ‘Dig up as much dirt and gossip as you possibly can.’”

Dex hates working for The Swallow. All it is is scummy, nosy people who want to pry into the personal lives of celebrities, and publish it all in one big Mother of All Tabloids. The pay isn’t even _that_ good, but it’s still pay.

Sometimes, Dex regrets leaving college.

“Right,” Chowder says cheerily, oblivious to Dex’s plight. “Well, anyway, I was thinking of taking Farmer up there, so do you mind if I come with you?”

Dex shrugs. “Sure, whatever. God knows I’ll need somebody to talk to.”

Chowder grins, finishes his coffee, and heads for the porch. Dex hears the sounds of Crosby, Stills, and Nash start to float through the door. He tries to focus on his notes for last week’s article, what he could have done better, what he should have left out (according to Lincoln, at least. Jackass.), what he should have included “much more of, because we’re not paying you to write an Aesop’s fucking fable, Poindexter,” but eventually he gives up and goes to have a nap, because it’s late afternoon on a Saturday, and Dex hates his job.

He wakes up to somebody flicking his forehead. Hard. And repeatedly.

“Come on, get up you waste of space,” a gleeful voice intones.

Dex groans, opening his eyes. “Fuck _off,_ Nursey.”

Nursey leans back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and grinning. “Are we going to this party or not?”

Dex gets out of his bed, stretching and cracking his back. The light is much dimmer than it was when Dex was last awake, and streaks of pink and crimson color the sky. Nursey is here, and therefore Dex is awake. Nursey just has that effect on him. That annoying, never-ending, _irritating_ effect on him.

“I’m not watching you tonight,” Dex says automatically. “I’ve got work to do.”

Nursey shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t need anyone to watch me, anyway.”

Dex raises an eyebrow.

Nursey waves his hand. “I’ll be _fine,_ Poindexter.”

Dex seriously doubts the legitimacy of that statement, but that’s Nursey’s problem, not his, so he follows him out the door and gets into the back of Chowder’s Volkswagen, a headache already starting to form in between his eyes.

They don’t get there late, but Mama Cass’s house is already packed, people loitering at the doorstep and in the driveway. Chowder and Farmer get out first, tripping all over each other and giggling on their way up, Farmer’s hair glinting in the warm yellow light spilling out of the windows of the house.

Dex stays inside, head against the window, eyes shut. He really just…doesn’t want to be here.

“You ok?”

Dex starts. “ _Fuck,_ ” he curses. “I thought you got out with the others.”

Nursey is looking over at him from the other side of the backseat, with a concerned expression on his face. “Seriously, Dex. What’s up?”

Dex sighs, shrugging. “I’m tired. I hate my job. My parents hate me. I have a headache. The usual.”

Nursey hums. “You gotta write something?”

“Yeah, the regular garbage.”

“Ok,” Nursey says. “I’ll help you.”

Dex looks over at him. “What?”

“Yeah,” Nursey says, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. “I’ll hang with you tonight and make sure no one bothers you, and we’ll have fun. I’ll totally help you find something good to write about.”

Dex scoffs. “And how do I know you won’t get wasted and ditch me?”

“Because,” Nursey states, a hand on his chest. “I give you my solemn oath.”

Dex looks at him for a minute, stamps down the shaky feeling in his stomach, and says, “Fuck, all right.”

Nursey smiles and Dex feels himself flicker in and out.

Inside is fairly calm. The lights are low, everyone’s either chatting or making out with each other, and a haze of smoke lies like a blanket over the whole scene, making Dex’s eyes droop and his limbs go all sluggish.

“Where do you think C and Farmer went?” he asks, shouldering his way through the crowd and trying to find a good patch of wall to linger at.

“Dunno,” Nursey says. “Probably out by the fire or something.” He grabs hold of Dex’s wrist and pulls him to a good spot, and Dex pointedly focuses on anything but Nursey’s hand searing its imprint into his flesh.

“Do you want a drink?” Nursey asks.

“Dude,” Dex says, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “I’m working.”

“So? You think Jim Morrison ever goes up on stage without slamming a couple of whiskeys?”

“Jim Morrison is an _alcoholic,_ ” Dex reminds him. “And he’s got a way more glamorous job than I do.”

Nursey acts like he didn’t hear him. “Hey, you think we might see him tonight?”

“Who, Morrison?” Dex snorts. “If he shows up, this article’ll practically write itself.”

Nursey disappears for a few moments, during which time Dex catches sight of a Byrds groupie tripping and breaking something that sounds fairly expensive (not exactly newsworthy). Nursey comes back with two cups in his hands, giving one to Dex and taking a swallow from the other.

“Nurse, I told you, I’m - “

“It’s water,” Nursey says. “For your headache.”

Dex blinks. “Oh. Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.”

Dex takes a sip of the water. It’s nice of Nursey to remember his headache. It’s nice of him to get him water. It’s nice…Nursey’s nice.

The rest of the evening is not that nice. It’s more so _stressful._ For starters, there’s barely any actual celebrities here. It’s mostly just random groupies and the usual Canyon people. This is Mama Cass’s _house,_ and Dex doesn’t even catch a _glimpse_ of her, even though he tries. He talks to a couple of people, and so does Nursey (who, true to his word, hasn’t gotten completely hammered, and this makes Dex’s chest tighten in complicated ways he isn’t sure how to interpret), but neither of them really find any worthwhile information.

Meanwhile, Dex’s headache has gotten _worse,_ if anything. It’s late, he’s tired, he has virtually nothing to write about, and Lincoln is expecting this report by tomorrow.

“Fuck it,” he mutters finally, flipping his notepad shut and shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not getting anything good enough.”

“What about the article?” Nursey asks.

“I’ll just make it up,” Dex answers. “I’ll fucking - say that someone told me the entirety of the Mamas and the Papas were having an orgy, or that someone got so wasted they crashed through the sliding door and got glass all over Neil Young - “

“Fuck, is he _here?_ ” Nursey asks, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck, as if he thinks he’s going to spot Neil fucking Young just sitting on the sofa.

“ _No,_ ” Dex says impatiently. “But I’ll say he was. It’s fine, I’ve done this shit before.” He sighs. “The more ridiculous it is, the more I get paid.”

He can feel Nursey’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look back. Honestly, Dex feels kind of _embarrassed._ He knows Nursey and Chowder and Farmer don’t really give a fuck about what he does for a living, but the fact that he reports on celebrity gossip isn’t quite something Dex is particularly proud of, and he doesn’t like flouncing it around.

“Hey,” Nursey says suddenly, so softly that Dex has to strain to hear it over all the sound. “Do you want to go outside?”

“We’ve already been outside,” Dex says tiredly, dragging a hand down his face.

“Yeah, but that was for your work,” Nursey says. “Come on, why don’t we go out and see what C and Farmer are up to?”

Dex gives him a pained look.

“It’ll probably be good for your headache to stop working and get some fresh air,” Nursey states, and _shit,_ he’s right, so Dex rolls his eyes and follows him outside.

The air is a lot less stuffy out here, and the breeze is a refreshing reprieve on Dex’s face. Even more people than inside are sprawled everywhere. Some of them are so wasted, they look like they’ll never be fully sober again.

Dex does a quick scan of the area, just in case there’s a somebody that he missed last time, but still, no one’s here. There must have been some other, bigger party somewhere else, for all the action this one is getting.

“Guys!”

Chowder and Farmer are over by one of the four fire pits, so Dex and Nursey join them. Farmer looks so relaxed, Dex is afraid she might melt into a puddle. Chowder’s cheeks, as per the norm at any party, are flushed a bright pink color.

“How’s it going, C?” Nursey asks, sitting down on the grass next to him. Dex follows his lead. The air is sharp with the smell of pot.

“’S’good,” Chowder says happily. “We’re not really doin’ much. You guys?”

Dex shrugs. “Not much luck tonight.”

Farmer hums around the joint in her mouth. “Oh, hey, we heard something.”

Dex raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? What’d you hear?”

“Something about Joni and Graham getting together,” Farmer says, exhaling smoke. “Or something like that.”

Dex pulls out his pad and jots it down, though it’s not like he would have forgotten it regardless. “Shit, ok. That could be good.”

Nursey knocks his shoulder into Dex’s. “See, I told you we’d find something.”

Dex’s mouth feels dry. “Right,” he says. His shoulder and Nursey’s shoulder are still touching. Dex doesn’t think he could move if he tried.

“Nurse, you want some?” Farmer asks, holding out the joint. Nursey takes it from her, grinning.

“Want a hit, Dex?” he asks.

Dex considers his options: he could say no, and carry on sulking for the rest of the night, or he could say yes, feel a hell of a lot more relaxed, and maybe finally get rid of his headache.

“Yeah, why not,” he says. If they’re not going to be leaving the party any time soon, he at least wants to make it more bearable for him.

Dex holds his hand out for the joint, but Nursey bats it away.

“What are you - “

“Wanna shotgun this?” Nursey asks casually, simply.

Dex blinks. “Uh.”

Nursey shrugs. “If you want to.”

That would be weird. Would that be weird? It would. They shouldn’t. They won’t.

“Yeah, ok,” Dex says.

Nursey smiles and scoots closer. Dex sneaks a glance over at Chowder and Farmer, but they’re too busy making out with each other to be paying attention to them.

Nursey sits cross-legged, facing him. “Ok, ready?”

Dex nods.

Nursey lifts the joint to his mouth, takes a hit, leans forward, puts his hands on either side of Dex’s face, and breathes slowly into Dex’s open mouth, their lips touching slightly.

Their lips. Touching. Dex almost forgets to breathe in.

But then he does, and then he breathes out, and Nursey is laughing quietly, and Dex’s heart is pounding, and that’s when he realizes just how fucked he really is.

**iv. _Samwell, Massachusetts - 2014_**

Dex is happy to go to Samwell, because Samwell is full of so many things he likes: hockey, Bitty’s pies, Chowder, interesting classes, things to fix, a college experience worth all the extra work on his Uncle Gerry’s lobster boat, a much-needed escape from his family, more pies, a really good library, a not-so-bad roommate, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…

And then there’s Nursey, and sometimes, Nursey makes Dex so angry, he wonders if he’d have been better off going to community college back home.

Like, how. _How_ do Jack and the others expect Nursey and Dex to click together as d-men on the ice when, A, they are polar opposites, and B, Nursey is the _worst?_ He’s so… _relaxed,_ and _full of himself,_ and _poetry guy,_ and fucking _chill._ That is everything Dex is not, and it drives him up the walls _insane._

And Dex sort of feels sorry for Chowder, for always being caught up in the middle of everything, but it’s so _unfair_ that Nursey is always… _implying_ that Dex is a privileged white kid when _he_ lives in Brooklyn, and _Dex’s_ family lives paycheck to paycheck! Like, ok, you’re a _super chill guy,_ but don’t act like you didn’t go to _private school_ before coming to Samwell.

“Yo, _cool it,_ Poindexter,” Nursey says, after he spills cereal all over Dex in the dining hall, and Dex almost punches his teeth in.

“So I missed one shot, what’s the big deal?” he asks after a practice, and Dex breathes deep and counts to ten in his head.

“Can you quit being such a tightass for once?”

“Dex, _man,_ calm down. Lol.”

“Dude. _Chill._ ”

“Hey, are you - “

Dex whips around and fixes Nursey with the most searing scowl he can muster, which isn’t a particularly strong one at the moment. The locker room is empty, and Dex had _thought_ he was alone. That’s what he _wants_ to be right now.

“Am I what?” he demands. “Am I pissed off? Am I annoyed? Am I angry? _Yeah,_ Nurse, I’m fucking _angry_ right now. Can you just leave me alone?”

Nursey holds his hands up in mock surrender, eyes wide. “Whoa. Dex. Ch - “

Dex hides his face in his hands. “If you even _think_ about finishing that sentence, I’m going to murder you.”

Nursey falls silent and doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Dex is too mad, too embarrassed, too _emotional_ to look up, so he keeps his face hidden and tries to ignore the burning at the back of his throat, in his cheeks, his ears, his eyes.

And then Nursey asks quietly, “Do you need to talk about it?”

No. No, he _doesn’t._ And if he _did,_ Nursey would be the _last_ person he would go to vent to.

Despite all of those very true facts, Dex joins Nursey in sitting on the bench.

“It was really out of line what those guys were saying,” Nursey says softly, voice barely above a whisper, and Dex can’t for the life of him understand why Nursey’s being so _nice_ to him right now. “I mean, it was seriously not ok.”

Dex sniffles. “ _Yeah._ I know.”

Nursey doesn’t say anything, just waits for Dex to talk.

He takes a shaky breath. “I just - this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t forgotten my shirt when I went to the showers. Because, I mean - that guy _saw_ me. He _saw_ my scars. And I didn’t care, because I didn’t think he’d noticed at the time, but apparently he did, and he went and _told his whole team_ about it.”

He scrubs a hand furiously across his eyes, because Nursey is _not_ allowed to see him cry. “This sort of thing hasn’t happened since _high school._ I thought I was _done_ with it. I thought I didn’t have to do this anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Nursey says automatically. “It’s totally fucked what happened out there.”

“I guess this time was a little better, though,” Dex says dully. “I didn’t know these guys. They didn’t - they didn’t know my deadname.”

He watches Nursey shake his head out of the corner of his eye. “That doesn’t make it ok.”

Dex glances over at him. “I don’t understand.”

Nursey’s eyebrows furrow with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Dex says. “Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me.”

“Just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean I can’t support you when dudes are being transphobic assholes,” Nursey says strongly. “We _all_ support you, man. I mean, Lardo had to, like, _physically restrain_ Shitty from killing those guys right on the ice. Ransom and Holster would have held him back, but they were too busy getting held back by Hall and Murray. Chowder was angrier than I’ve ever seen him.” He shakes his head. “And we all wanted to do something, Dex. We all did.”

Dex almost smiles. “And we won.”

Nursey grins, knocking his knee against Dex’s. “Yeah, we won. And if that’s how that other team reacts when they don’t, then that just makes them a bunch of fucking losers.”

Dex really smiles then, wiping his eyes again. “ _Thanks,_ Nursey.”

“Chyeah.” Nursey nods. “And Dex?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t hate you. I know we fight, and you can be _really_ fucking irritating sometimes, but I don’t hate you.”

Dex closes his eyes. “I don’t hate you, either.”

And maybe he doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> DIFFERENT SETTINGS USED FOR THIS FIC
> 
> i. freaks and geeks - i fucking love this show and i was watching it while i wrote this so. yeah. anyway, dex is the lindsay character here, and nursey is sort of a combination of kim and ken?? neither of them ever date lindsay in canon, but i feel like she and kim always had something going on, so...
> 
> ii. spiderman - dex is pretty solidly mary jane. nursey is really a miles/peter combo. i just wanted to write about a spiderman kiss, man.
> 
> iii. the iliad - yeah. i know. shut up. nursey is achilles and dex is patroclus. holster is agamemnon, johnson is odysseus (lmao), jack is menelaus, bitty is helen, parson is paris. sorry for making holster a dick, but it's ok because i love him <3 i'm gay and i like greek mythology ok stfu
> 
> iv. h*rry p*tter - i wanted the whole house rivalry thing. also quidditch is basically just hockey but on brooms. the hufflepuff/slytherin dynamic is fun. fuck jkr tho
> 
> v. the great gatsby - i'm gay and i'm sorry, but this one kind of popped off. nursey is gatsby, because of course he is. dex is nick carroway. this one was really fun
> 
> vi. quarantine - this one was so long because i actually started writing it as a separate fic and then gave up on it, so i decided, why not just put it in here? i like this one
> 
> vii. romeo and juliet - literally almost all of the dialogue is lifted verbatim from the play. nursey is mercutio. dex is benvolio. chowder is romeo. don't think about the implications of any of this because it's too sad 
> 
> viii. pride and prejudice - lizzie and darcy walked so nurseydex could run. i was really excited to do this one, i think it came out pretty well. nursey and dex are obviously lizzie and darcy respectively, plus farmer and chowder are jane and bingley. i really just wanted to write dex saying the "not handsome enough to tempt me" line.
> 
> ix. skam - AHA yeah. i know. but pool scenes are fun. this doesn't really model a specific scene from any of the remakes, though it's probably closest to like. españa or smth. idk i wrote this entirely from memory so. dex is the isak and nursey is the even
> 
> x. world war i - no excuses for this one, i just think history is neat. it would have either been this or like. ancient rome, so. actually kind of based on [this comic](https://my-darling-boy.tumblr.com/post/614545072853237760/it-shatters-my-heart-that-gay-people-centuries-ago)
> 
> xi. a room with a view - this book/movie drives me INSANE so naturally, i had to do it to em. i actually think the george/lucy relationship probably better suits zimbits fsdjdsfsgs but oh well. dex is lucy and nursey is george. i really needed to write this poppy scene
> 
> xii. vampires - not gonna cap, this is probably my favorite part of this fic. i just...i really like it?? idk i listened to blood bank by bon iver like 20 times while writing it, so maybe that means something and maybe it doesn't. very much inspired by [this incredible fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066650)
> 
> xiii. les mis - ...immediately followed by probably my least favorite part of this fic :/ nursey is grantaire and dex is enjolras. permets-tu? yeah. you can tell i was running out of steam by this point
> 
> xiv. laurel canyon - uhhhhh i watched a really dope documentary on the laurel canyon music scene and it's actually what inspired this whole fic?? because i have Mental Illness and so my brain immediately said "nurseydex au" and kept going from there. so thanks to that doc (i would def recommend watching it)
> 
> xv. canon verse - sort of a pre-relationship freshmen year thing. trans dex. love and support. hockey broship. yay
> 
> follow me on tumblr at [connorswhisk](https://connorswhisk.tumblr.com)
> 
> my twitter is the same but it's dumb and i have 0 followers, so if you followed, i'd probably love you forever or smth


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